Mr Monotony
by MeLaNch0LYdreams
Summary: Watanuki, an unsuccessful clarinet player of the local orchestra is fired and evicted on the same day. The result was living with an emotionally stunted musician. And maybe being caught in the crossfire of a drug war? Mature themes.
1. Chapter 1

Part One

It felt more like a chilly October night than a June afternoon. The gloomy weather reflected well on his mood and the hallow sound his stomach made as the scents of freshly baked bread wafted over him. He cursed the bakery for being next door to the theatre.

Summer in the slums of Manhattan was usually equivalent to winter in the tropics, with the smog from high rise buildings and fumes from everyone's cars. It was home to Watanuki, but it didn't mean he had to like it. He always dreamed of living in one of the residential neighborhoods near the border to the North, the suburbs for cookie cutter families and so on. He wasn't naive enough to believe that a change of scenery would solve his problems, but they did something for his frazzled nerves.

There was only one problem.

Watanuki, like the rest of the state, grew up on welfare money. Money that could only be given up until he turned eighteen.

He went to a private school on a scholarship, joined a music program but these weren't things that helped him on a resume. He always wanted to go to culinary school, but there was no way to make ends meet. He lived in the dank apartment for one, where it got bone chilling in winter and sweltering in summer. After he turned nineteen he gave up paying the electricity and hydro. The theatre had showers and a bed. He could make it through another year.

Money was tight. The theatre hadn't played shows in a while and what little he had went into the maintenance of his clarinet. The landlord, usually lenient, wasn't getting jack off of anybody. He had been seeing a bunch of eviction notices lately and thanked god he didn't have one yet.

Oh yeah, that problem!

He suffered from psychogenic hallucinations.

If money was not already sparse between the apartment and his instrument, it was the drugs.

Ever since he was young, he would get violent seizures that could only be moderated by presciption drugs. He had fared well when the government gave him a discount in his younger years, but the threat of him swallowing his tongue and getting a stroke was only more elevated than ever before. The only side effect was the emptiness in his gut and the ghosts.

He named them that because they were too horrific to be considered things. He had a psychologist evaluate him and tell him that the growing miasmas he saw around people were a manifestation of his judgement of other people. It sickened him, but it couldn't be closer to the truth.

"Hey guys, what's up?"

Watanuki had come a bit earlier today, which explained why only the winds and woodwinds were there.

A girl stopped playing her flute and stared at him with a very complicated expression, like she was confused but at the same time knew something he didn't.

Another girl came off her saxophone. "Watanuki, why are you here?"

He furrowed his brows quizzically. "Um, practice? Why, did something happen?"

He didn't really have a land-line or a cellphone so he usually just made the short walk from the apartment to the theatre to be told news and somewhat. Usually they sent him a newsletter, but the mail had been overflowing and he figured he could go in person to find out what it was.

Watanuki instantly realized the expression she wore. It was one he had seen several times before growing up. The look of pity.

He knew what was coming long before she said anything.

"You may want to check your mail."

he gripped the black case with the knuckles burning bright with tension and ran the kilometre back to his apartment and stared in disbelief.

An eviction notice was pasted on the door. He scrambled through the sea of envelopes jammed into the door and read the one labeled with the stamp of the theatre.

DearKimihiroWatanuki,

'. .

Myapologies,  
KyleRondart

He crushed the letter in his hands. A slip of paper fell from the envelope.

A cheque for one grand It felt more like a chilly October night than a June afternoon. The gloomy weather reflected well on his mood and the hallow sound his stomach made as the scents of freshly baked bread wafted over him. He cursed the bakery for being next door to the theatre.

A cheque was made out to him, but it made no difference. He glance at the window, it was going to rain tonight.

He jogged three floors down (the elevator was down again) to the landlord's office. Normally, he would have had the patience to knock on the door calmly, but in his frenzied state he banged down on the door, could feel another seizure coming. His meds were in the apartment, and it was being taken away for no good reason.

"Open up!"

The woman had curlers in his hair and wore a bathrobe. He could have laughed if he were in a better mood.

"I paid the rent. I don't understand why-"

The landlady wore that same expression of pity as the flute player back in the theatre.

"It's not you. Did you get the memo? This apartment is going to be turned into an office. No one here is paying jack to stay here, except for you. I can't let one person live here. You have to understand. If you need more time all I can give you is two weeks."

It was like the ground had been swept up from under him.

"If you need a place to stay you can stay with me."

The famed miasma grew thicker around her, her pupils blown in silent excitement. He knew what she did to the younger residents who hadn't paid rent on time. They went over and didn't come back until the morning after, came back with messed up hair and clothes barely hanging off of them. It was worse when they came to him after, the ones that begged him to call the police or get them through the night. Watanuki wasn't on bad terms with the police, but there was always the dissonance between the untouchables of this city and the justice department, and down here, there was only a fine line separating the two.

He backed away and her fingers twitched.

"I'll figure something out." He attempted a reassuring smile but it came out weird. She frowned in disappointment and handed him the key without another word.

He turned the key into the lock and marched right too the medicine cabinet with only the slightest hesitation. The pounding at his temple grew frantic.

The cabinet was bare.

There had to be a limit to the misfortune he could encounter in one day. There was only person to call.

The rain came in icy sheets down his back as he jogged to the payphone at the end of the street. He was down to his last coins.

The phone only rang once, and for that he was glad.

"I need you," he whispered into the receiver, voice hoarse with pent up emotion.

There was no silence on the other end. "I'll be right over."

He nodded even though he knew she wouldn't be able to see it and went down to the bakery.

They usually met up here. She always ended up buying him a meal on cold days and offered her bed on sleepless nights. Although he was loathe to admit it, there was a reason for this.

Yuuko was his girlfriend.

Twelve years older than him and a drug dealer. Yeah, it doesn't get any worse than that.

Like usual, the only two tables in the establishment were empty and obscenely pink colored. The interior of the shop gave off waves of pastel colors which was strange because if he could recall two grown men were the owners.

"Here you go," Sakura set something down in front of him, as polite and cheery as ever. "Am I putting this on Yuuko's tab?"

I nodded silently in affirmation and the brunette bowed, the frilly apron falling over her ankles.

Another thing, what kind of bakery dresses their employees in maid costumes?

I was counting the cracks in the wall when Yuuko came storming in.

When Yuuko stormed in, instantly the lights seemed dimmer and the pastels not as bright. No matter where it was, whenever Yuuko walked into a room, the mood instantly changed into a serious "lets-take-business" fashion. Which seemed, if anything, more amplified than usual.

Yuuko was slender and towered over me, had long flowing black hair and eyes that were almost red, and resembled a god. You know, if deity's dressed like they walked off a Lady Gaga photoshoot. It was pouring in sheets but she looked absolutely dry, and saw no trace of an umbrella with him.

"I'm breaking up with you." She said without breaking stride, and pulled up a chair in front of me.

Watanuki sized her up, tempted to ask her how exactly she got off doing these things. He didn't bother doing though.

"I'm being evicted."

She cocked a brow at this.

"On what terms?"

"Not eating her out."

Yuuko spit out the coffee Sakura has placed in front off her. She smiled at this.

"What else is new?"

I'm sure she meant it jokingly but I was sort of an a roll.

"And I got fired."

Yuuko went silent for a bit. "Is that why you called?"

In the moment of desperation I forgot why exactly I did.

"I don't know."

Yuuko passed me a donut. Sakura had given me some soup. It looked like a full dinner for once.

"You know you can always-"

"No."

Her lips pressed into a thin line but she didn't persist further.

When Watanuki finished he leaned back. "So is this break-up your way of telling me you're not paying for my meals anymore."

"Don't be ridiculous. If I did that you wouldn't cook me dinner any more!"

"So..what does it mean? I'm out right now."

Yuuko knew instantly what he meant.

"My guy can't find any compounders right now, so you'll have to make do with some epileptic knock-offs."

He flashed a nervous glance over his shoulder. While Sakura wasn't a nosy person, her boss, a burly and surly man by nature wouldn't hesitate to turn them in.

"Thanks, I appreciate it."

"So, what are you going to do now? Have you considered any other options?"

"I was reimbursed for one grand. I can at least stay in one place for a couple months but after that I need to get a job, the deadline for financial aid for culinary school was supposed to come sometime this week, but now..."

He needed an addressee, and Yuuko's wasn't even recognized by the state.

"Are you staying with a friend?"

The instant Yuuko said the words, she regretted them from the look on her face. It went without saying that the only friend he had was a grown woman he occasionally slept with in order to get a hot meal. He wasn't even attracted to the woman, and his proverbial ship had already sailed when it came to sex in general.

"Want to come over?"

Knowing the implications long before she said them, he winced.

"No, just...not today Yuuko. I'm not some boy toy."

The woman looked offended and opened her mouth (to probably refute it, but he really wasn't in the mood) and closed it in resignation as the chair from across her was pulled back and slammed into the table. The bell chimed on his way out.

The rain fell heavier than he remembered, but it may have been snow for all he cared. The stress of the day was...wearing on him.

His shoes filled with water, the fabric of his shirt clung to him as the storm raged around him, as if spurred on by his agitation. He propelled himself further, the streets of Manhattan a blur.

This side never had any cars except for the one or two that drove by mistakenly every once in a while. He was thankful for it at the moment.

"Playin' on his slide-trombone. In a certain monotone."

His steps slowed as the sound of a distant jazz tune filtered through the streets. He turned around, urged on by his own curiosity.

"He was known as Mr. Monotony."

A brass instrument (trombone) gave a wallop at this, the whole band going wild with it.

He stepped closer to the back door, stupidly open and peered in.

A girl-no, women, she couldn't have been any older than he was strut across the stage, the spotlights catching on her slinky gold sequined dress.

"Any pleasant interlude-that would mean a change of mood. Didn't go with Mr. Monotony. Sometimes he would change the key, But the same dull melody, would emerge from Mr. Monotony. "

Her eyes were wide and olive, and her long black curls billowed out behind her as she threw her head back in fevered passion. As captivating as the temptress was, there was a strange innocence permeating her seductive dance. Creaks in the stage surfaced where her miasma was thickest. Had he been any closer, he was sure he would have choked thickly on the smoke she gave out.

By her side, as if to contrast, stood a pure soul.

By default, the two were polar opposites. Where the temptress had been eye-catching and riveting, the trombone player wore muted colors and wore no expression, as expected. His eyes were almost the same shade as the brass he toted. When he stepped near the singer, her miasma seemed to dissipate just the slightest bit. It helped that he was easy on the eyes.

"That was great Himawari! Good work on the trombone Doumeki."

The director and small group gave a standing ovation, and Watanuki realized he had been standing in the rain for a while. As if noticing this, a stage hand politely asked him to close the door and come in.

He shook his hair and sat near the back, watching the pair bow impassively.

"But, would it not have been more effective to use a song from the musical, perhaps?"

The director's tone of voice didn't sound like it was on the sarcastic side, but Watanuki was well acquainted with the tones of people's voices, and he could hear it then.

He felt disappointment sink in the pit of his stomach. He was sure other performers would be just as talented, but there was something about the pair that...

Speak of the devil, the trombone player marched up towards his seat.

Watanuki froze when he saw the almost bored looking man promptly drop down to the seat beside him. He shivered at the feel of a warm body next to his. Watanuki stared at the trombone player in awe, until he opened his mouth.

"You're getting the seats wet, idiot."

His stoic tone of voice punctuated the insult more effectively than he would have thought. As if it was so matter of fact. Watanuki bristled at this, but steeled himself to be polite. There was nothing to gain from angering someone he had just met.

"Um...aren't you supposed to be up there with her?"

The trombone player shook his head. "No, I'm just the accompaniment."

"Oh."

Conversation dropped as the two watched the mini-interview the director was conducting in front of the others who looked constipated. It was easy to tell who exactly the favorites were.

In reality, Watanuki hated it. He found it unfair that the talent of withdrawn people was overlooked due to their modesty. While Watanuki was no saint. Cross Private's orchestra treated their players as equals, as did the theatre he previously worked at. He liked Himawari, and from what he could see, she wasn't putting on airs. Watanuki was conflicted. Without the trombone player beside her, the singer was engulfed in flames. He could only make out her light green dress and white flats from his viewing point. It was a bizarre sight, had Watanuki grown used to it.

His lungs hadn't, because his persistent cough would not disapear. Doumeki glanced at him from the corner of his eye.

"Are you alright?" He said coolly, his tone merely neutral.

Tears swam through the clarinet player's eyes, and he dismissively waved at his neighbour.

"Oh, I've always been like this. Sorry if I'm bothering you."

The two only shared a brief moment of silence before the other snatched his wrist and pulled him up.

"Hey!" He stumbled in surprise, awkwardly landing on the trombone player's side. "Let go of me! What are you doing?"

The other didn't look back at him. "You need to dry off, your going to catch a cold."

"By going back outside?"

"My place is a block away."

Watanuki said nothing at this. He could probably play the sick kid and have a place to stay if he pulled it off right.

"So...what's your name?"

The taller of the two glanced back at him, opening up and umbrella over them.

"Shizuka Doumeki. You?"

"Watanuki." He stared forward, 'accidentally' pressing against Doumeki's side.

He was pretty sure he imagined the arm that wrapped around his waist.

-

True to his word, the walk only lasted a couple minutes long, and in that time, Watanuki learned a few things.

1) Shizuka Doumeki was an ass.  
2) Shizuka Doumeki was insufferable.  
3) Come to think of it he also had a great ass.

He wasn't going to take back the third one, he was aware how prostitutuional his actions were. It was either go down on Yuuko or go down on the landlady. His options weren't getting any better.

Doumeki peeled off his sweater and it only added to the impression that he was going to get laid tonight. His sopping jacket didn't come off at the wrist, because he was still clenching the clarinet case in anticipation. Doumeki pulled up short.

"You play?"

"Yeah."

He put the instrument down on the coffee table and the the fabric slid off like a second skin. Goose flesh pricked from his skin at the feel of cold around him.

Doumeki sat down and looked thoughtful. Well, he didn't really look like anything, but thoughtful was a start.

"You should play."

Watanuki was prepared to do that, to avoid the inevitable. It was funny though, one moment he was prepared to play the instrument, and than it morphed into something else. What once brought him joy, helped him through hard times, his friend even, now represented the root of all his problems. Why had he become an instrument player? A regular job would have been manageable. More concrete in its standing, and would have paid the bills more than delay them. He no longer saw a gift, but a curse.

He shrugged off-handily, when inside it was nothing of the sort. "Can't."

He paused for a moment. "I don't recall you asking politely." He smiled and crossed his arms, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

As if sensing this, Doumeki got up and went down the hall.

Watanuki paced, his palms sweaty and heart racing. Doumeki was shuffling for something in the washroom. How was this going to go? Could two guys even do it? The questions only served to make him more anxious.

"Here." He let out an undignified screech as a towel was tossed at his face.

Doumeki looked even more intimidating up close and stared deeply at him. The look was akin to 'soul searching' and 'the eyes are the window to the soul' rather than 'hey babe, let's fuck!'

He was starting to doubt himself. It was entirely possible that the trombone player had solely invited him out of...concern.

He spotted something in the corner that caught his eye. "You play guitar?"

The towel was rubbed harshly through his scalp and Doumeki hummed at him, eyes akin to brass trained on him.

He would be lying if he said that he actually wasn't the slightest bit disspointed that he wasn't going to be sleeping with the trombone player.

When Doumeki deemed his hair dry enough to pulled back and turned the small TV on, a fixture he had noticed before. The other unzipped the bag and pulled out a cherry wood toned guitar. It was medium sized and had the standard curve on one side meant for professionals. Most of all, it looked really expensive. He watched Doumeki pluck some strings absently. Doumeki's expressions were getting easier to discern and he was almost positive that the look on his face was absent minded, with his brows furrowed in concentration and mouth shaped like an 'o.'

Doumeki's voice was nothing like he would have expected.

"Sweet...dis...po...sition."

"Never too soon, oh reckless abandon like no one's watching you."

"a moment, a love, a dream, aloud a kiss, a cry our rights, our wrongs. A moment, a love a dream aloud."

Doumeki's eyes were shut and brows knit, his voice clear and something beautiful.

"Live like no one's watching you."

Watanuki involuntarily closed his eyes and leaned, feeling the pleasant vibrations of the guitar resonate through his legs.

"Can I stay the night?" He asked softly, for once his thoughts not bogged down with suspicion.

The other was nearly silent. "Sure."

-

Yuuko took a drag and put it out against the window. He could almost hear Sakura's sound of desperation at the action. Yuuko was staring at the street, eyes unreadable. He knew instantly that something was wrong. Yuuko only ever avoided eye contact when she was mad. It was like one was not allowed to see her true emotions at any given time.

"You didn't go home last night."

He shivered, spine bristling. One of Yuuko's talents, if not a curse, was her intuition. Much like the expression, there was never a doubt that her predictions were ever false. He looked down in shame, he could still smell the shampoo in his hair, and he was pretty sure she could smell it too. Which had only meant one thing.

"Thought you went to eat out the landlady for a morning shower." Yuuko took another drag, her knuckles trembling. "Which was rich considering you didn't want to be my 'boy toy' last night. "

He winced at that. "I'm sorr-"

"No, you're not." She said coolly, her tone firm. "So, whose place was it? Because I went to give that bitch an earful and she called me 'an assuming whore' and how I didn't have any business making accusations dressed as I was."

Had the atmosphere not been as tense as it was, he would have laughed a bit at that.

She gave him an expectant look. He needed a second to collect his thoughts.

"Um...a friends."

She gave him an expression that clearly stated 'bullshit.'

"Ok, not a close friend."

The look persisted.

"OKAY! A stranger. Who let me stay over."

Yuuko's expression was disapproving. "What if they had been a rapist/axe murderer? You felt more safe with a complete stranger than your girlfriend."

Watanuki held up a finger at this. "Ex." He corrected, "Well, I thought you made yourself pretty clear last night."

To his astonishment, the women's skin reddened at that. She shifted in her seat uncomfortably as if he had embarrassed her.

"Oh, yeah. I guess. So whats he like?"

"How do you know hes a guy?"

"Intuition." Right,

"I'm starting to think you follow me around."

He let his hand rest on the teacup, bringing the hot nectar to his lips. Yuuko loved contemplative.

"Hmm, well, not me directly."

The tea went down the wrong pipe and he beat down on his chest, tears springing to his eyes.

"What?" he asked in amazement, voice hoarse.

"Mokona trailed you to the theatre. I may not worry, but he does."

Mokona, the small boy Yuuko employed that liked to stay in the shadows, only visible of him was a small black rabbit with a blue jewel lodged into its forehead. He didn't pretend that he knew what his girl- ex-girlfriend did for a living.

"And why did he think that was appropriate." his eyes narrowed into slits. "Yuukooo." he hissed in warning, the witch's face blank.

"What, just because I'm not your girlfriend I can't be worried about you? This Doumeki has got to be something if you have the gall to borrow a shower.

His mind reeled.

"How do you know his name?"

Yuuko didn't falter, re-lighting her smoke.

'I asked you a question."

"Never doubt a woman's intuition."

His temper flared at this, and he calmed himself down, counting backwards in his head, breathing in and out.

"Im flattered by your concern-"

"Anytime!"

"-but I don't need it. I can take care of myself."

Yuuko stared at his teacup, clenching her fists.  
"I think you've made it clear that you need help. Its not a crime to ask for it every once in a while."

He shook his head at this.

"I've made it clear that I depend on you way too often and you let me. I don't want it to go on any longer than you do."

"Thats a lie."

"No, I mean it-"

"I never said anything about not wanting you to depend on me."

Oh.

Yuuko reached out for his head, lacing her fingers with his. He held his breath. Despite the fact they had sex, this sort of intimacy was never breached.

"I care about you. " she paused. "Probably more than you realize. I want the best for you, and I know that you won't get it all the time. It seems that you only come to realize it when I have to shove it down your throat like a cold hearted bitch."

"That...doesn't make any sense."

She sighed. "Let me rephrase that, when you're giving it to me in bed after I give your your drug money."

"That..." Watanuki slumped, pulling his hand away.

She was right, He could play victim all he wanted, but everything was his own design. He was the one who 're-payed' her for her care, asked her to be his girlfriend to soothe his guilty mind.

"Sorry." he whispered.

'Don't be!" She smiled. 'Can I get some sake over here?"

Sakura was there so fast it was like she apparated. "We don't sell alcohol here! This is the fifth time you have asked that." the brunette pouted, dusting flour onto her apron.

"I know! I actually wanted to call you over here..." Yuuko smiled cheekily, and jerked a thumb at him. " because this guy needs a job over here, and he happens to be very skilled in the kitchen."  
"Yuuko!"

He didn't know what to say. He recalled the job posting at the window.

Sakura brightened. "Oh, I know! I was actually hoping he'd apply. Let me get !"

The girl disappeared as quickly as she came and Watanuki sighed in defeat.

'Will I ever stop being in your debt?" he muttered sullenly. Yuuko's burgundy eyes glittered.

"Not really."


	2. Chapter 2

Part Two

Fai Flourite was a sweet, temperant man. He was beautiful in a way that transcended genders, and had very distinct blue eyes and blond hair. A master baker, a wonderful boss, and an even better confidant.

Kurogane was not.

"Take that to the back, kid." The burly man said gruffly, hefting the larger than life bag of flour over his shoulder like it weighed nothing. Upon settling on his shoulders, he fell right to the floor, pinned by the burlap sack. He tried not to lose his dignity as Kurogane turned back to him with a glare. Watanuki gulped, for reasons unknown the body builder didn't like Watanuki very much, and as self-depreciating as he was, he still couldn't fathom why.

"Geez, what do you eat, kid? Are you a plant? Do you photosynthesize?" At least the comeback was more original that Watanuki would have given him credit for.

"Mr. Kurogane, stop teasing the newbie!" Sakura chirped, lifting the burlap sack from from his shoulders. Seriously, this girl had monstrous strength.

Other than a frown, Kurogane conceded with a muttered 'fine' whilst heaving another bag of flour.

"Any luck finding Syaoran?"

The smile dropped from her face, and Kurogane looked immediately like he shouldn't have asked.

"He's...still missing." she said quietly, dusting herself off.

Syaoran was a baker too, also employed with Fai, and Sakura's boyfriend. He was generally a good-natured guy, he knew how to take a joke and he and Sakura had been dating for almost their whole lives but they still never held hands in public. It was adorable.

Until Syaoran had been reported missing a couple weeks ago. Sakura was so worried she even gathered her wits to go ask Yuuko for the favor. The word of Yuuko being a crime lord wasn't as subtle as she thought it was, but she agreed regardless. Even with her various connections, the boy was nowhere to be found. Which explained the job posting.

However, like always it wasn't that simple.

Kurogane materialized behind him as stealthily as the ninja Fai always teased him as. Watanuki lept in surprise, holding a hand over his hammering heart and inwardly thanked himself for not letting out an undignified yelp. At least he still had his pride.

"Meet me at the back in 10. I have a job for you."

Kurogane's deep red eyes narrowed in slits when he said this, and Watanuki suppressed the involuntary shiver invoked by those words. The bodybuilder slipped away as quietly as he came and the clarinet played sighed in relief. That guy had a knack for making the simplest of commands sound like threats.

He dusted his hands of flour and smiled reassuringly to Sakura as he approached the back, feeling shame pass through him as he did so.

When we arrived, Kurogane was smoking a cigarette and talking to a girl that couldn't have been a day older than Sakura. She looked out of place, with her rich navy clothes, practically wreaking of wealth and prosperity. She had long silky black hair that curled up at the ends and gentle blue eyes, and looked incredibly doll like next to Kurogane. She stood out like a sore thumb in the shady alley, looking unaware of the dumpster she stood by, that Watanuki could practically smell the corpse he had mistakenly come across the other night when taking out the trash. Although knowing that he and Kurogane had a client, he still didn't know what she was doing there until he saw what was in her hand.

When he got close enough, he could hear the starting of a (one-sided) argument between them. Which was rendered strange in Watanuki's mind when he heard the thinly veiled threats in her voice pair with her disturbingly cheerful expression. He knew the look all too well to be able to ignore its implications.

"Are you sure you want to do this under the table? You didn't come up to par last month with the inventory. Fai-"

"-has nothing to do with this. And this month's inventory _will _be met, just you wait." Kurogane took a deep drag on his cigarette, not breaking eye contact. It almost looked like a skill from Watanuki's vantage point.

"While we're at it Tomoyo, how has the search been going?"

Tomoyo's face finally crumbled as he said this, and her eyes fell to the floor. The search was the investigation of Syaoran's disappearance, no doubt. The look on her face spoke volumes enough.

"No luck, eh? Well,"

Instead of answering, the behemoth of a man aimed a strong kick at the dumpster and it rattled with the brunt force Kurogane had forced unto it. Watanuki jumped back, thankful that he still wasn't seen during their exchange. Somehow he knew that the bodybuilder wasn't very fond of eavesdroppers.

Kurogane took in a calming breath and tapped the ashes of his cigarette and decided to put the whole thing out. "How many this week?"

Tomoyo brightened, passing over the plastic Ziploc bag, stuffed to the brim with a leafy green plant that Watanuki had recently gotten acquainted with in the past week.

Cannabis. Marijuana. Weed. Cush, whatever you call it was in that bag.

"Only 67 this time. I'm sure you'll have it done by Friday."

"It'll be signed,sealed,and delivered by Wednesday." Kurogane corrected, offering his hand to her in a cursory handshake that ended these business transactions.

The bodybuilder, clad in white button up, black slacks and n pron caught site of him and passed the bag off to him without breaking stride.

"Start rolling it tonight, we've got to meet with some dealers tomorrow."

Watanuki, used to being on the wrong side of the law didn't find fault with Kurogane's business dealings. He had already spent a majority of his life on the other side purchasing 'medication' that hadn't been permitted by the laws that were supposedly meant to protect him. And that his older-than-was-socially-acceptable ex-girlfriend was probably a mafia boss. All she was missing was her fedora and a golden tooth.

On second thought, knowing Yuuko she probably had both.

Watanuki sighed to himself. When had his life start to spiral out of control like this? He tucked the bag of weed into his pocket, He could roll a dozen tonight at the apartment before Doumeki came home from the theater. Which left a bigger, growing concern.

Doumeki.

The man (although they were the same age, he subconsciously still addressed himself younger because of a silent, but begrudging respect he felt, although would not admit for Doumeki.) had adopted stoicism when he had come home early one day to find Watanuki sprawled on their living room floor rolling blunts under a lamp with tongue stuck out in concentration. They hadn't spoke about it since, but seeing as they never really spoke much at all, nothing really changed.

They had a routine, Watanuki cooked and cleaned for Doumeki like a slave while the Neanderthal would offer him monosyllables as thanks, and once in a while he would be prompted to play the Clarinet gathering dust in the corner of the room (if not for long before Watanuki's eye for cleanliness battled with his avoidance issues.) and when he refused (read:outright rejected) Doumeki would play him a song on the guitar or trombone. He still particularly liked that day when Doumeki had played accompaniment from the inexpensive stereo with his trombone. Moonglow, it was called. The musician had silently complained that it would have sounded better if he had taken out his clarinet.

He just had to wait a year. Than he would be out of the man's hair and company. Doumeki's company had never been unwanted, in fact he felt no desire to leave. That wasn't the problem. The problem was that he could barely contain himself. He knew how it showed, in the boxed lunches practically manicured to perfection, the spotless apartment, the long lingering looks-

Watanuki jerked up at this, burning himself in the process. "shitshitshitshit-" he hopped on one foot, wringing his hand as he hopped to the sink. Sakura was at his side immediately and turned on the tap water. What was with people in this store and appearing out of nowhere? Was this a skill he was lacking?

"I always wonder why the natural reaction when one gets burned or cut is to jump up and down." Sakura laughs a bit to herself, turning the tap off.

"Same! Its embarrassing enough being caught distracted." He smiled at her, feeling some of his mirth return. Note to self: no more pondering when extremely hot objects were involved.

"Well, its your fault for not wearing the mitts." she tried to look disproving, but it was contradicted by the smile she was fighting to keep off her face.

"Sorry. Promise to practice workplace safety next time." he apologized sheepishly, thoughts getting unfocused again. His medication was late, and the double vision was starting to kick in. Not good.

For a second, the outline of Sakura's body swayed.

"Hey, do you want to come over today? I rented a good indie film and I wanted someone to watch it with me. Tomoyo's busy tonight so she can't make it."

Oh. Small world.

"Sure." he agreed, making sure to up the amount of blunts he was supposed to roll the next day. Kurogane would not be happy.

He panicked when he saw the ghost of a leer on Sakura's face as she passed him by, but it was gone in an instant. He must have imagined it. Sweet, innocent Sakura? That was another side effect to add to the medication.

He turned to the oven but in the time he had been pondering she had already brought it out and started frosting. He sighed and glanced at the clock. His shift was about to end.

"Can we get a rain check about the movie? I actually have to do something tonight."

Sakura pouted but he was almost sure he saw a dangerous glint in her eye, but it must have been a trick in the light. "Tomorrow, than."

-—

"Where are you going?"

Doumeki looked up at him, rummaging through a big black sports bag filled with clothes. "I'm going to go visit my family tonight. It'll be an overnight thing. Want to come?"

He was taken off guard by the invitation.

"Huh? Sure, but as long as we get back before 5 tomorrow."

Moonlighting as a drug dealer sucked.

Doumeki nodded to him and Watanuki went to retrieve the only other pair of clothes he owned in an old backpack the musician had lent him, and they were off.

"Why are we taking the train?"

Watanuki blew on his hands and rubbed them together, pulling his jacket tighter around him. Now that he thought about it, Christmas was around the corner. Sakura and Doumeki's invitations no longer seemed uncharacteristic. (Sakura's still was, and he couldn't doubt his instinct forever.)

Doumeki glanced at him, amber orbs piercing. "It looks scenic."

The baker stared at the musician dumbfounded, maybe he gave the man too much credit. "It's winter."

"Yeah."

"And the lakes are frozen over."

"Yeah."

"Where the hell are we going?"

"Toronto."

It took Watanuki a minute to grasp this.

"We're going to _Canada_? Did it occur to you that I may not have a passport?"

His answer came in the form of a small leather booklet tossed over to him. "Wha-"

"I know a guy. I got the info off the roommate agreement."

"_howdidyou-_this costs a lot of money! And you can't do any of this without my permission!"

Doumeki merely shrugged. "I have my ways."

Watanuki even had a passport photo he didn't remember being taken of him.

He stared at the musician in astonishment, ignoring Doumeki's silent look of 'come-on-we're-going-to-miss-the-train-if-you-keep-being-emotional.' He swallowed a sob and nodded at Doumeki instead, hoping the action alone would convey his thought he saw Doumeki smile, but the musician turned away before he could see it grow.

"Let's go." the musician said instead, a little baffled by Watanuki's silent admission. He had expected worse.

Bored.

That was one way to describe how he felt.

He didn't have the luxury of being able to doze off like Doumeki had, and instead chose to focus on the 'scenery' the musician had insisted there was much of. It didn't look particularly spectacular, seeing as winter had hit north first and blanketed what could have once been beautiful and green in sheets of thick white snow. He and Doumeki were dressed ill for the weather, but they weren't staying long.

Sometime during the trip his eyes had wandered on their own accord and examined Doumeki.

The man slept with his chin propped up by a few fingers, and posture slouched. He looked dignified, even in sleep. Watanuki took in the details he would have never normally noticed with a critical eye.

Doumeki had very long eyelashes framed by thick eyebrows and high cheekbones, which must have came with his Asian heritage. His skin had a nice caramel tint to it and his jaw looked almost chiseled, although it wasn't like he had much to compare it to, except maybe Kurogane. He took notice of the wool grey beanie Doumeki wore and the microscopic black studs in his ears. He didn't care much for the accessories, but Doumeki could do without them. His eyes fell to the musician's lips, parted and slack jawed in sleep. They weren't too full or average either, but they were enticing to look at either way.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer." the words weren't said with any malice, and came from the slumbering giant across from him.

It took Watanuki a moment to realize Doumeki was addressing him.

"A-ahaha, sorry for staring! Just bored and all!"

"Mhm." Doumeki still didn't open his eyes, and he sounded half-asleep still. "If you're going to undress me with your eyes wait until I'm awake. Otherwise I'm pretty sure that makes you a necrophiliac."

It really should have been wrong when Watanuki corrected (_Somniphilliac) _in his mind in response. Watanuki decided he didn't like snarky Doumeki. It never occurred to him that an introverted person such as Doumeki probably had a brilliant and intelligent mind under his Stoicism. Actually, that may have been inflating his ego a bit, but there was a point all the same.

"How long until we get there?"

Doumeki gave a cursory glance at the rolling hills and valleys covered in snow. "A couple more hours."

Watanuki cleared his throat, suddenly all aware of Doumeki's eyes raking over him impassively.

"S-so you're Canadian? I would have never thought! Are you a permanent citizen?"

"Dual citizenship. I went to high school in Toronto and took a scholarship in NYC for business."

_Business?_

"I dropped out and pursued music because I honestly thought I had a shot. I double-majored with Experimental physics at the time because I thought I could get on the board of directors for NASA. The tuition was sky-high so I had to drop out."

"Experimental physics? Business? Why would you ditch those programs for music? You could have supported yourself with a job at the university and done it on the side!"

Doumeki shook his head in reply. "It's not the same as doing it full-time. What were your plans before all this happened? Did they ever fall through?"

Watanuki sucked in a breath through his teeth. "I couldn't afford college and I wasn't smart enough for a grant. The only thing I knew how to do right was play the clarinet, and the one place that employed me fired me. My landlord evicted me because I wouldn't have sex with her, my girlfriend broke up with me, and I have a year to get into culinary school. I can barely rub two bills together, how am I supposed to afford it? I have to deal and take drugs I sell and work as a replacement for a boy that was kidnapped and-when they find him they'll probably fire me too. If they ever do. And now I'm finally starting to have feelings for-" He bit his tongue and shut up, because if he didn't, he was sure he was going to say _you._

It felt good to finally be out with it, better than the first time he had told Yuuko after it happened. Doumeki and he had never made more than small talk at best, how was he going to take it?

He met the musician's eyes, who didn't say anything but in his own Doumeki way he looked stunned. He stayed silent.

_"Next stop: Oakville."_

The sound of the P.A and the feel of arms wrapping around him startled him.

Doumeki wrapped himself around the clarinet player in a strong embrace, trapping Watanuki's hands between their chests. He hesitantly tried to withdraw but quickly relaxed at the warmth around him.

Doumeki was soft and comforting and he gave in, laying his head in the crook of his neck. "Thanks," he said inaudibly, hoping the musician would catch it.

Doumeki nodded once, and they stayed there as the last stirrings of 'At last' played around them.

When they finally arrived, it was well after midnight but like all big cities, the streets weren't empty. Watanuki noted a few drunk grad students fall over each other, a bunch of kids huddled close together, and once or twice a couple holding hands. They had gotten off the train and stepped into the subway some time in the past hour and now navigated the streets, coming out a Mall whose lights were insanely bright at this time day, or night.

Watanuki gaped.

Even with his head tipped so far back it was resting on his shoulders he couldn't see the top of the condo from his point, and they were still a block away!

"What floor does your family live on?"

Doumeki mumbled.

"Huh? Speak up!"

"Penthouse." he muttered.

Watanuki stared in astonishment. He lost count after the first 24 floors, and there was still a long way to go.

"It's the eightieth. If you wanted to know."

Watanuki would have blown up at the musician if Doumeki were more smug about it but he looked...almost embarrassed.

"What do your parents even do? Aren't these evaluated at..."

Watanuki remembers a time he had picked up a real estate magazine, and how the numbers flashing behind his eyes had a lot of zeroes attached to it. He had immediately put it down after he saw it.

"Millions. Yeah."

Doumeki ducked his head, but he was sure he saw the tips of the musician's ears turn red. Watanuki was learning all sorts of things today.

The concierge (can you believe it? A twenty four hour concierge!) greeted them with a warm reception, and an even warmer reception to Doumeki, passing the both of them spare keys. The condominium looked so luxurious that Watanuki was expecting her to pass them hotel key cards, but no such luck.

In fact, he was pretty sure it looked better than all the fancy hotels in the media and from what he saw. The floors were granite and stained in swirling patterns of every shade of blue imaginable, there were fountains placed strategically at each side, and real gardens flourished the walls framing the space of the foyer. All in all, it was a contemporary and beautiful space. Watanuki wondered if maybe he had accidentally taken a hit off the package Kurogane handed him but then quickly realized that if this were a dream, he was sure Doumeki wouldn't be his usual dumb self.

A security guard stopped them, he looked even more solid than Kurogane at first glance. "I'll need to see some ID."

Doumeki handed their passports to the guard without a word and looked like he was stifling laughter. Watanuki glared at the musician in puzzlement. "What?"

"I'll tell you later."

The guard shooed them off but still glared at Watanuki until they retreated into the elevator.

The elevator was wide and spacious and made of glass. All angles could be seen as they were elevated level by level.

Watanuki turned away from the extravagance. He was almost positive he looked slack jawed with surprise. "So?"

Doumeki's mouth twitched. "He thought you were a hooker."

Doumeki plugged his ears, knowing what was to come.

A beat. "WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?" Watanuki flailed and stuttered, swinging his arms around like a pendulum, his face flushed red with humiliation. "B-but I'm a man! That doesn't make any sense!"

Doumeki flattened his mouth into a thin line to keep from laughing, it was a losing battle. "It's well after midnight, we check into a hotel, we're young and there's a reputation for business man to bring their...escorts back home."

Watanuki deflated, still in disbelief. "Oh yeah...its legalized here. Then why would he be glaring? Wouldn't he just think we were squatters instead?"

"Not everyone is fond of the prostitution laws. They have so many restrictions that it may as well be illegal."

"Oh?"

"You have to have another source of income, no pimp, can't do it in your own home and you can't advertise."

"But that's-"

"-impossible. There aren't many people out there who would do this as a hobby. The only option is standing in street corners at the middle of night and wait for clients. But as you know, they can't be of the good rich have loopholes." Doumeki said, with an almost bitter inflection in his tone.

Watanuki glanced at Doumeki, suddenly seeing him for the first time. A smart man who grew up rich but followed his dreams and abandoned a life of luxury to take care of himself. It was admirable.

"Shizuka!"

A short woman in a white turtleneck and curly bob wrapped her arms around Doumeki as soon as the doors opened.

"We missed you last month! What was the change of heart?"

The short woman whom Watanuki assumed was Doumeki's mother stole a glance at him.

"Ohh, I see." she smiled mischievously. "Brought a girl home to visit the 'rents?"

Watanuki opened and closed his mouth and flushed deep red. "Um, I'm not his girlfriend per se, I'm a gu-"

"He's a guy." Doumeki said tactlessly, beating him to the punch.

Doumeki's mom frowned quizzically. "But you said you were bringing your significant ot-"

Doumeki went to cover his mom's mouth and steer her away to the living room. "Hey, you should cook."

"My name's not 'hey!'"

Doumeki was already out of sight, and the clarinet player took this time to explore the penthouse.

There was a one hundred inch television parked in what he assume was the media room to his left. The carpet felt soft and expensive under his feet and he stepped away and made a right from the foyer. A grand piano and various other instruments lined the walls, from harps, to trombones, to guitars that were electric and acoustic, drums, and he was sure he spotted a flute and woodwind section of sorts. Watanuki stared at the room in amazement. In the centre was a studio microphone supported with a large diaphragm that was boxed off by three soundproof glass walls. Outside was a miniature panel that he assumed was for mixing and editing for mastering. He shook his head at the expanse of wealth and continued his tour.

"Who are you?"

A gruff voice startled Watanuki and he jumped back, coming face to face with a man that looked like an older Doumeki in a wife-beater and boxers.

"Oh I'm Do-Shizuka's roommate. He invited me to come over today. I don't mean to intrude but where can I find the kitchen?"

The older Doumeki sized him up and nodded after a moment. Guess some things are more inheritable than others.

Doumeki's (he assumed) father led him through a couple hallways, before they came to an open concept kitchen with an island and peninsula. It was definitely speaking, a chef's kitchen. He took it all in, from the gas range to the low hanging lights and the state of the art appliances and the beautiful granite back-splash. He didn't want to seem rude and just start to take out food so he circled the space like a bird, and glanced at the spacious breakfast bar. He was running out of words to describe the space and he hadn't even seen all of it yet!

"Watanuki."

"GAH!"

He held a hand over his heart and turned exasperated blue eyes to the source of their surprise. "What is with everyone and sneaking up on people? Am I the only one?"

Doumeki cocked a brow at this. "It's not my fault you're so dim."

There he was, Classic Doumeki was back in the building. Said Doumeki pulled up a chair at the breakfast bar and rested his chin on his hands much like he did on the train and proceeded to bore into him expectantly.

He coughed, knowing that look all too well. "What?"

"Aren't you going to cook?"

Watanuki sighed and opened the fridge, stocked to near completeness and decided on breaded eggplant.

There was a few things Watanuki noticed when he woke up.

1) The bed was not his own

2) This bed was way too comfortable

3) Why was it so bright?

"Rise and shine!"

A cheerful woman with curly hair smiled, looming over him with his sheets in hand. He blinked drearily, hunting for his glasses. "Wha..?"

"Shizuka said you have to leave before five, so that means we have to start our day early don't we?"

Watanuki wasn't much of a complainer but it didn't seem like proper manners for a host to pull their guests out of bed for their own amusement. Or maybe they did, Watanuki wasn't exactly the ideal guest. He groaned and got out of bed regardless, rubbing the sand from his eyes and tugged on his pants from the other night and followed Doumeki's mother.

"So how long have you been living with my son?"

"Oh, a couple months now."

She "hmmm"-d in thought and left him confused. She abruptly turned to him, clapping her hands in his face as she did so. "I have a favor!"

He had a bad feeling about this. "Yes?"

"We didn't tell Shizuka, but we invited the family over for a Doumeki reunion for lunch and I need help preparing. I've heard that you are planning on going to culinary school!"

He sheepishly agreed and cursed Doumeki seven ways to Sunday in his mind. "Yeah, sure. What did you have in mind?"

Two hours later the kitchen was filled to the brim with dishes and already the doorbell was ringing.

"Come in!" Doumeki's mother called in a shrill voice. They were so far away from the foyer, how would anyone be able to hear?

As if hearing these thoughts the door opened and a few pairs of feet started to shuffle in hesitantly. Watanuki sighed to himself, the Doumeki were strange people, a fact that he had come to accept over the past few hours.

"Kimihiro, is the pot roast done?"

"Oh-um, y-yeah."

Watanuki still didn't like the use of his first name being thrown around, but it was North America. What was he supposed to do?

"The fireworks start tonight, are you boys going to leave early to catch them."

"Fireworks? During winter?"

"They're going to go off by the C.N Tower tonight, it's going to be a new tradition! Isn't that exciting?"

He smiled wryly, distracted by all the work he was going to be missing by the time he got home. He imagined a particular fantasy in which Kurogane would pick him up and snap his spin in half with his knee. Watanuki winced, almost feeling the phantom pain it would bring him. He would be up all night after he got back to finish the inventory. "Yeah, it will."

As the Doumekis filtered into the apartment, Watanuki noted with some amusement and concern that all the members of the Doumeki clan, male and female looked identical. That being said, the clarinet player was having a hard time locating his Doumeki.

"Hi, have you seen Shizuka?"

A tall woman with long hair and a very Doumeki-like face with almond shaped amber eyes and a long elegant nose shook her head at him. Watanuki silently wondered if this is what Doumeki would look like if he was a girl. Even the earrings she wore looked identical to his own. He suppressed a shutter and went off in search of the musician.

He poked his head in the music room but a bunch of Doumeki look a like kids were chatting and playing some of the instruments. He shivered and weaved through hallways, all full of established adults making light conversation. The sound died down a bit when he came to the end of the hallway, and caught sight of a room without a door.

It resembled an office, with its high ceiling and fireplace tucked to one corner, the mahogany desk and wall to wall bookshelf filled to the brim with books. Watanuki was so lost counting the books and marvelling once more on the materialism of the rich that he almost ignored the musician sitting at the foot of the shelf a ways away from the fireplace but still sprawled on the shaggy red rug on dark hardwood floors. Doumeki was wearing his beanie again, and stared into the fire with a stony expression on his face. Or really no expression at all.

Watanuki stepped closer to the fireplace like the proverbial moth drawn to the flame. He noted the life sized mirror hanging above it and saw himself. Blue eyed, pale, and scrawny illuminated by the light of the fire. He looked as radiant and he looked weak. The image depressed him. In the corner of his eye in the reflection Doumeki was spread eagle on the floor, the only part of his face peeking out were his eyes that practically glowed in the dim light of the fireplace. He lay on his stomach and ignored Watanuki completely. Watanuki continued to stare, transfixed by the reflection somehow. There lay Doumeki, a slumbering beast on the floor, and stood Watanuki, ghost like and without an impression. He felt inadequate, obsolete now that he saw all the differences between them. The time crawled by, and soon the sun set and the moon was starting to make its debut. Watanuki forgot about work, forgot about the drugs, and forgot everything else that didn't seem to matter.

"Why did you bring me here?"

In the mirror, he could see Doumeki's ocher eyes dart to him but the musician made no move to get up or speak.

"I know you don't want to be here. For whatever reason, but why me?"

"_I thought you were going to bring your significant oth-"_

"Because I wanted to." Doumeki said simply, sitting up and stealing a glance at the lanky clarinet player.

Said Clarinet player choked, "That's not a real answer."

Watanuki gasped as Doumeki captured his lips, an explosion of color illuminating the room. The fireworks show had started.

"Shizuka! Kimihiro! Where are you?"

Doumeki pulled away, his breath heavy and unsure. It was the most exposed Watanuki had ever seen him. Doumeki stood and glanced at him, turning away without another word.


	3. Chapter 3

Part Three

"So Shizuka, how's Business school?"

_Business school?_

The musician said nothing, instead shifting food around his plate with a twitching palm. He looked out of place, not wearing the woolen grey beanie. Watanuki had only seen Doumeki part with it a few times, but whenever he did it was in respect for others. All the other dinner guests were deeply engaged in conversation and didn't notice Doumeki stiffen at the question. Doumeki's mother shifted a warning look to his father.

"Shiro, don't-"

"Hush, Madoka. I just want to know what this 'musician' squandered my hard earned money on. My own son is so ashamed he barely shows his face around here."

Watanuki glanced anxiously at Shizuka, but all the trombone player did was stab his peas with vigor. Madoka wore the expression of one exhausted with grief, and Shiro continued to regard his son cooly. When Shizuka got up, no one went after him.

He watched the Doumeki leave, honestly confused but unsure how to approach the matter. Madoka timed a sharp kick to his ankle.

'Go after him.' She mouthed, her expression sharp.

Watanuki withdrew from the table half-heartedly and went looking for Doumeki.

He wasn't in the library, and the clarinet player's worry grew as he surveyed each room, each turning up empty without any success. He sighed for the umpteenth time that day. Who knew Doumekis could be this complicated. He reflected on the visit and deigned to refuse the next time the instrumentalist invited him places. He thought of the pros and cons of the trip absent mindedly, almost passing the lone door slightly ajar in the dim hallway, the chatterings of the Doumeki clan muted with murmurs of appreciation and good cheer.

_"Why did you bring me here?"_

_"Because I wanted to." Doumeki said simply, sitting up and stealing a glance at the lanky clarinet player._

_Said Clarinet player choked, "That's not a real answer."_

_Watanuki gasped as Doumeki captured his lips, an explosion of color illuminating the room. The fireworks show had started._

Watanuki stubbed his toe with a start, cursing like a sailor. He hopped up and down, face flooding with unwelcome heat. Sure, he was attracted to Doumeki but that didn't mean he actually had, well...feelings for the jerk. He was grateful and endlessly confused that the oaf let him stay at his place without paying a cent of rent-but from the looks of the condominium, the musician could afford it. The glances at the attire of the Doumeki clan told him that they were rolling in dough, which may have made him feel the slightest bit out of place. He thought of Madoka and smiled a bit too himself. Who knew the mother of such an expressionless rock could be so welcoming?

A crooning interrupted his thoughts and he paused, almost missing it because of how timid and quiet it sounded.

_Doumeki,_ he knew instantly and cracked the door open silently, peering in at the guitar player. He watched the hunched shoulders and concentrated expression, his signature 'music look.'

Watanuki wasn't going to say that Doumeki looked great when he was playing, in fact he looked a bit like he was in pain. Getting to know a bit about Doumeki's world-part time at the theatre, late night open mics, Watanuki became no stranger to the crowd experience. Of disgusting sweat laced bodies crushed together, screaming until you were hoarse, but most importantly the haze of euphoria and temporary joy radiating through the crowd. He had the chance of accompanying Doumeki to a show he didn't particularily like, but Watanuki knew what the musician lived for, watching the frozen instrumentalist seem to observe the proceeding passings with a look of mere boredom.  
This wasn't the case. He knew behind that passive agressive stare what laid underneath, and it carried the same fire of youth that everyone around him held at the venue. He understood it, in a way but he liked the impact of a hundred instruments played together-it made him feel more alive than being in the crowd.

He watched Doumeki silently, letting the soft stirrings of guitar strings. The musician always overplayed his songs when practicing, to the point where it drove him crazy. So needless to say he was a bit taken aback at the near inaudible acoustic sound, it was a breathe of fresh air.

He smiled a bit to himself. "I don't recognize that one, is it an original?"

Doumeki, for all his talent never performed his originals. He knew this because late at night he could hear the musician softly curse as he scribbled and fumbled over sheet music, and maybe the fact that he never finished them. The songwriter performed for him every night, but never a song of his own. Watanuki mused to himself, maybe out of fear for criticism? He was fairly honest person, and he wasn't going to hold back for Doumeki.

Doumeki all but jumped away like the baker had electrocuted him. Watanuki stiffled a laugh, Seeing the musician's flushed ears and almost (key word: almost) scandalized expression, was a pleasant surprise. His eyes widened a fraction and his amber irises held blown pupils, giving the musician's surprise away entirely. "Um, yeah."

In all the time Watanuki had known Doumeki, the latter had never been caught by surprise. He awarded himself a small victory in his head and his grin widened at this. The songwriter flushed deeper, mouth still tight in an impassive line.

"Caught you by surprise."

"Yeah, expected you to...storm in and all."

He cocked a brow when the musician trailed off, looking everywhere but at him. He deigned to know why when he remembered the almost kiss in the study. Oh.

"Why is your dad hung up on business school?"

Doumeki's shoulders twitched. Another wrong move.

"He's..."

The musician searched for a word, lips turning white. Watanuki was a little startled at Doumeki's open expression.

"...reserved about it."

"Huh?"

"He's hoping that giving me my freedom now will make me open my eyes and realize there's more to life than music."

"That's just...stupid."

Doumeki snorted at the poor choice of words and ducked his head, kicking his notebook away. Watanuki opened his mouth and stopped, knowing his input would most likely damage him even more.

_I thought parents were supposed to be accepting?_

"Can I see?"

"Hm?"

"The notebook."

Doumeki hesitated, his head still ducked.  
"Sure."

Watanuki had to admit, he hadn't pegged Doumeki as a passionate writer. The quietest people had the loudest minds they said, and Watanuki agreed wholeheartedly as he flipped through picturesque lyrics implicating political slurs, the experiences of feelings that couldn't be forced, and just...his writing was so diverse that it hinted at the intelligent mind that Doumeki didn't put on airs about.

He stared at Doumeki, gauging his reaction from the corner of his eyes, still staying stock still. What was he so afraid of? His writing was professional, it was nothing like the half assed love songs blared on the radio with the undertones of sex, it was something of a whole nother world. Watanuki felt like his IQ had raised several levels just minutes after scanning the disjointed verses, of the songs that despite their fullness-never looked finished.

"What are you writing now?"

Doumeki deemed it safe to shrug his shoulders and return his look of curiosity. "A love song."

"Ah," he thought out loud, linking Doumeki's strange actions together and suddenly got a clearer picture.

"...So?"

"Hm? The lyrics? They're really powerful to be honest. Do you get writer's block at al-"

"I wasn't talking about the notebook."

Doumeki's sudden firm tone captured his attention.

"Than what were you talking about?" Watanuki's eyebrows knit together in confusion.

Doumeki opened his mouth and stopped himself, eyes lowering to the ground. It was a submissive gesture, but of what he didn't know. Whatever it was, he had given up. Or so he thought.

"I meant us."

"What do you mean?"

"Did you...feel anything?"

Watanuki connected the dots and Doumeki waited patiently, face still determined. When realization dawned on him, the Doumeki knew instantly and plugged his ears.

"Do I-_WHAT?!"_ Watanuki flushed redder than a tomato, gesticulating frantically. "T-That's none of your business! I mean-I..."

Watanuki hung his head, feeling his earlier chagrin come back with a vengeance.

Doumeki liked him.

Rich,talented, and forward Doumeki liked him more than a friend.

He stared.

"...don't know." He looked away like the musician had, closing his eyes so as to not see the other's expression.

It was dead quiet, but with his eyes closed he could feel everything his eyes could not. Doumeki's breath hitched in a way that was far from good and with no distractions Watanuki regretted closing his eyes instantly, feeling Doumeki's disappointment even more than before.

"...That's fine." with his eyes closed, he could detect the wobbly shake in the musician's voice and how thick it came out. "Are we good, than?"

It was astounding how easy Doumeki was to understand if one just listened to him. Watanuki' heart panged with guilt. He opened his eyes and trained them above the songwriter's head. "Yeah, we're good."

Doumeki's hands, almost as expressive as his voice stilled and then clenched into fists. "I'll go back to the table. Hungry."

_Back to one word answers I see_. Watanuki thought to himself sadly. _One step forward and three steps back_.

Watanuki was resolute. He wasn't going to lead his roommate on, and he wasn't going to lie, but...

He thought of when he opened up to the musician and everything came spilling out and when he cut himself off-  
Doumeki's tight shoulders and imperceptible sniffle broke the last of his resolve.

"Wait!" He called frantically and mentally slapped himself. What was he, an idiot? Why was he expecting Doumeki to listen to him after he broke his heart?

It seemed so, and Watanuki felt even guiltier when the musician turned around, his amber eyes rimmed with red. "Yes?"

"When we were on the train I-" he looked at his hands, pale and lily white. He was like a ghost? What did Doumeki see in him? "I was on the edge of something."

Doumeki turned to him fully, disbelief coating his features. Watanuki went on, not paying attention to the change in the songwriter's face.

"I don't know what love is and if I can even give it to you-we barely know each other, and I don't want to disappoint you and..."

To anybody else, it may have sounded like an excuse. To Watanuki, it was the truth. He felt as exposed as Doumeki, remembering with shame that night he pushed his head between Yuuko's legs when she was drunk and proclaiming they were dating when she woke up. Watanuki knew better than anyone that pursuing a relationship to make you happy benefited no one and only ended in hurt. He knew that nobody wanted pity, they wanted acceptance.

Watanuki knew this feeling was different, and if it meant putting himself out on the line than he was okay with it. It's because it was Doumeki.

Arms enveloped him an embrace much like the one on the train, but more desperate and warm and all the pleasant things in the world Watanuki could name. "Thank you." Doumeki whispered low into his ear, and despite how he shivered, he was flooded with the joy of finally being accepted and loved. He almost felt like crying.

"Your welcome," he whispered, biting his lip and burying his face in the crook of Doumeki's neck.

* * *

Watanuki wiped the evidence of sleep from his eyes with a yawn and blinked a few times as he stood outside Sakura's apartment. It wasn't as fancy as he originally thought because she begrudgingly told him how her older brother, Touya didn't like the thought of her living in a dump, so he paid half of the rent for her. It was a lot better than Watanuki's old one, to begin with it at least it had Hydro.

He ached from staying under the lamp on the floor that afternoon and catched up on the inventory of marijuana to be rolled up for Kurogane. After awkwardly sitting across for Doumeki for several hours without getting up, and finishing work, he was wiped out. The songwriter hadn't said a word to Watanuki the whole train ride home, but it was a comfortable silence. They hadn't held hands either, just stare at their surroundings until they arrived back in New York. At this point, Watanuki thought he imagined the whole fiasco in the music room. It wouldn't be the first time he was hallucinating without the drugs, in fact he was expecting his withdrawl symptoms to kick in anytime soon. There had been another delay in Yuuko's shipment and the splitting headaches he had come to dread returned without any mercy. The headaches were only a precursor to the cerebral hemorhages to come, and Watanuki had only survived a couple times, both within an inch of his life. He yawned again, but he was feeling alright. He had taken a hit to take off some of the edge and his head still hurt, but it didn't send a jolt of panic through him.

"Watanuki! Glad you could come over."

Sakura greeted him with a sunny smile and instantly Watanuki noticed her short pink sundress, and how short it came. He ignored it and smiled back at her, feeling perverse for even taking a glance. Sakura was like the little sister he never had, the thought was too gross to consider!

"I'll make some popcorn!" she dissapeared into the kitchen, sparse at best for a baker.

Watanuki couldn't help comparing her apartment to Doumeki's, now that was enlightened recently by the musician's actual fortune. Sakura had started to hum, and Watanuki noticed with some dread that 500 Days of Summer was paused on the eighteen inch television that looked the slightest bit dated. He bit his lip, mentally slapping himself for scrutinizing her living space like he had any better. He heard the crackle and hiss of boiling oil, knowing she was making popcorn the old fashioned way. He plopped down on a couch cushion, the cushion sinking under his weight. He startled at the familiar tune she hummed, recalling it playing in the background of Doumeki's apartment a few weeks earlier.

"Hey Sakura, what are you singing?"

She peered in at him, cocking her head at him. "Black Black Heart by David Usher?"

"Really? It sounded like something else."

"Well I heard it was from this opera song, The Flower Duet? You can play music on my laptop if you want."

Watauki hesitantly reached over to the Toshiba laptop embellished with stickers of hearts and flowers, not knowing what to do. He seldom used computers.

"iTunes!" Sakura said helpfully, and Watanuki took her advice thankfully, browsing for The Flower Duet.

The music flooded through the poor speakers, but he froze at the beauty of the vocals, entranced by the wordless power of the song. Watanuki sank into the couch, the cushions sinking under his weight. He let the voices wash over like waves and leaned back, unbeknownest of how Sakura watched him through the kitchen, her gaze fixed steadily calm on him like a predator observing its prey. She noticed that he hadn't paid attention to the playist titled with his name in the corner and thanked her lucky stars he was too distracted to notice. She padded up to him silently, not wanting to capture his attention. She leaned over his shoulder, and inhaled his scent. She pulled back quickly, shooting a weary glance to see if he noticed.

She noted his relaxed shoulders and even breathing. Not a thing.

She smiled victoriously to herself, the depths of her green eyes dark with malicious intent.

She backtracked to the kitchen to retrieve the popcorn.

"You can start playing the movie if you want."

Watanuki startled out of his thoughts and gave her an embarassed look. "Oh, um, sure."

He almost seemed at a loss. Truly adorable! She thought to herself, sitting closer to him then was socially acceptable. Watanuki tensed but quickly recovered and unpaused the movie.

"Its sort of like an Anti-RomCom for hipsters."

"You've watched it already?"

She hesitated but continued to ramble, intentionally leaning into him as she did so. "The actor in this one was casted as Robin Blake in The Dark Knight Rises. I thought he did a good job but I still sort of like him better in this one."

Watanuki had nothing to contribute, he was usually to broke to go to the movies by himself.

As the credits began to roll, Watanuki noticed Sakura's growing warmth beside him with discomfort. She was practically sitting in his lap! Her thighs were bare and pressed close to his, and her head was ducked under his chin but leaned away as to not misinterpret that she was leaned forward in interest of the movie, and not his reactions. On the contrary in Sakura's mind, it was the exact opposite. Should he say anything? He didn't want to embarass her. He tried to subtley move away from her but she followed his movements, eyes still trained in interest on the movie. He sighed in resignation and let Sakura take space in his lap. When she noticed she'd move away, right?

Sakura absently removed the sash in her dress and pulled it free slowly as to not attract his attention. Her heart beat in anticipation, she had never taken control like this before! She thought excitedly, feeling beads of sweat gather on the back of her neck, the gears in her head turning. She spread her thighs even more, now sitting fully in Watanuki's lap, the dress riding up so high that a sliver of fabric prevented her from being completly indecent. She cleared her throat, making sure to lower her voice extra soft. "Watanuki?"

He was still tense. Oh well, subtlety wasn't going to get her anywhere. "Don't you want to touch me?"

There was a pregnant pause in the room.

"W-WHAT?"

He made as if to push her off, astounded by the way she lowered her green eyes to look almost seductive and how she turned around to meet him, her bare legs straddling him. She grabbed his wrists in a vice grip and winded her sash around them, binding them together. "Sakura what are you-"

Sakura paused the movie calmly and reached over to start the playlist she created for the night. She smiled darkly at Watanuki, and he felt his blood sink cold at the look.

"I shouldn't have to seduce you, Watanuki. Haven't you heard how it makes a girl self-concious when you refuse them when they're throwing themsleves at you?"

Watanuki remembers the leer in the bakery, and Sakura's many insistences to spend time with her. His mind spun as she lifted the dress above her head, staring at him evenly, her quivering shoulders giving away the nervousness she really felt.

Watanuki froze, staring in disbelief at her body, tan and unmarred by scars or blemishes. Her skin is rosy and glistens with a hint of sweat. She only wears a pair of white lacy panties, but he feels no arousal, only feels sick to his stomach. This is nothing like Yuuko, the thought of whatever was about to happen to him was horrifying. Bile rose in his throat as she presses even closer to him, his soft breasts press against his chest and he chokes as she whispers in his ear, her breath hot and wet. "I want you."

It does the trick, and he can't take it. The shame and disgust for himself burns tears into his eyes as she starts a pace and rubs them together at a tantalizing rhythmn. "Mm, _Watanuki."_

He remembers Syaoran's smiling face as he and a blushing Sakura walked home together. _What happened? _He begged in his mind, willing himself not to give in, his member twitching to half hardness. A sheen of sweat sticks his chest to his shirt and his breathing goes labored, pants of revulsion leaving his mouth against his will. With Sakura's head tucked into his shoulder, its easier to think its somebody else doing it to him. Like Doumeki-

He springs to full hardness and Sakura startles at this, peering at him with slightly widened eyes and breaks into a shaky smile, hazy green eyes fervored with want. All he can see is the slightly panting Doumeki in the study and his unsure gaze as he left, and the gratified Watanuki that kissed him again in the music room. "Finally."

Paralysed by whatever it was, fear, disgust, or fascination, he can't tear his eyes away as she peels away her panties, and there's no mistake that Sakura isn't feeling the guilty pleasure Watanuki feels, because she's _ready. _

The thought finally snaps him out of the stupor he's been under-_and when did she unzip his pants? _He uses her moment of distraction to throw her weight off him, sending the naked girl plummeting towards the coffee table behind them. She nearly yells as she skids against the sharp objects raking against her skin and explosion of pain as the back of her head hits the wall with an audible slam. Watanuki uses this chance to hobble away, his pants slipping and nearly sings his praises then and there when he sees that her door is slightly ajar. He doesn't turn back when he hears her appear at the doorway to call his name, and keeps running, glad that there aren't too many people walking around at night. He must have made a sight, wrists bound and pants loose around his hips.

The hemhorage comes when he least expects it, and by then he has already fallen onto the concrete, head tearing itself up from the inside out. He opens his mouth in a silent scream, because he can't even breath as it takes his toll. His vision is gone, his heart is contracting faster and faster in his chest until he can feel it so much that he feels nothing else but the crippling pain as his body continues to fail him. His eyes roll back into his head, and it subsides. His hearing returns, although it rings just a little bit, his eyes feel swollen, but we can see crystal clear, and he takes in little puffs of air, not sure if he can handle more. He should have noticed the signs-hypertension, vomitting, the headaches- the symptoms were as clear as day, and he was stupid enough to believe that a cigarette would put the pain at bay.

He had survived it, that was all that mattered.

Watanuki got up slowly at first, his limbs feeling like jelly. The baker struggled to his feet and took baby steps, his muscles clenching his legs almost painfully. He continued on like that, getting used to his body and started to go faster. He endured the slight clench in his legs and paced himself. He wasn't even ten minutes away from Sakura's apartment when he eventually began to sprint. He caught his breath when he put some distance between him and her apartment, lowering the wrists above his head and worked on untying the knots with one hand. The cool nigth air feels great on his overheated skin and he inhales deeply, willing his heart to calm down. He cursed, and desperately tried to keep his pants from falling down and kept his head down when he saw a couple cut off conversation when he walked by. His face flooded with even more repulsed heat and let himself cool down.

When he got home, Doumeki was up in an instant and Watanuki felt like telling him everything, his anxiety bubbled and her nearly started sobbing when he stumbled past the threshold and into the wall. "Watanuki?"

"Sakura, she-she-"

Doumeki's knitted eyebrows of concern narrowed into anger. "What's this?"

The musician poked something behind his ear. He stumbled to the hallway mirror and stared.

A hickey.

His throat dried up as he saw the giant red bruise, practically screaming for attention. In the mirror, Doumeki's shoulders were tensed and his once calm golden eyes now flared with rage and betrayl.

"Doumeki-" before he could finish, the musician clenched his fists and turned away from him, not willing to hear another word.

Watanuki felt like his world was crashing down, and jumped when the door to Doumeki's bedroom slammed so hard it rattled on its hinges.

The clarinet player hung his head and sniffed, falling onto the couch. He calmly started to untie the knots with a gentle hand, patient when the almost untied knot caught on another.

A tear slid down his cheek.

Another one did.

And another.

He buried his head in his hands and sobbed into his hands, trying and failing to keep it in. He held his breathe, determined to unknot the sash first. Hard rock music started to blare from Doumeki's room, it was a cue for him to leave. The knot unravelled and he crept slowly into his room and picked up the overnight bag that he had taken with him to Toronto.

* * *

"Watanuki?" The blond yawned, still half asleep and his eyes shot open when he saw the boy's swollen eyes and disheveled state. "Come in! What's wrong?"

"Can I stay over tonight?" the blue eyed man croaked, his voice the slightest bit hoarse.

Fai nodded, fully awake and lead the boy into his apartment, thankful that Kurogane was out for the night.


	4. Chapter 4

Part Four

"What." He heard a growl. "Is he doing in my _bed?_"

"Calm down, Kuro-pi! You're going to wake our guest up!"

_Already done,_ Watanuki thought sullenly, but let himself fake slumber. He evened out his breathing and fought the impulse to open his eyes. He knew what he would see. There was the sound of rustling, a soft sigh and bare feet scraping against hardwood floors. He snuggled into the sheets, they felt rich and warm and soft and-

"Hey kid, did you finish the supply?" He froze, but decided to nod. There was a pause, and then a sigh. Watanuki almost jerked when he felt a hand ruffle through his hair.

"You can sleep in today, but you're coming back tomorrow. Got another job for you."

_Of course_, the thought to himself. Trying not to let the irritation show in his face. The bed dipped, and the heavyweight was out of the room. Watanuki nuzzled the sheets in relief.

_Watanuki hadn't come home last night._ Doumeki furrowed his eyebrows and fixed a soul searching gaze to his cereal box, hoping it would give him the answers he needed. He had overreacted. It was clear then that he was jumping to conclusions. The sash around his wrists and his clumsy gait should have been proof enough that the clarinet player had been forced to endure whatever punishment was bestowed upon him.

But then Doumeki remembered what Watanuki told him about his relationship with Yuuko. His blood boiled, and he had reacted without thinking. Doumeki sighed and continues to scrutinize Captain Crunch's permanently joyous expression with worry. _He was probably with Yuuko_, the songwriter thought jealously. A curt knock on the door interrupted his brooding. Doumeki's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He was near positive it was Watanuki. He hopped off the counter and went to open the door. He stared in puzzlement at the figure on the threshold.

"Who are you?" A burlap sack was thrust over his head and a pair of muscles arms pulled him out of his apartment.

-—

"Red Velvet, and a medium caffe latte."

"Yuuko..." Watanuki's brow twitched in irritation.

"You're eating us out of house and home!" The baker yelled, gesturing at the many empty plates and empty display. It was going to take a solid four hours to restore it all! And she wasn't even paying! Fai patted Watanuki's shoulder in what was supposed to be in reassuring gesture, but even the blond was starting to twitch.

"I apologize for his rudeness, but he's right. I don't understand what 'tab' you've managed to convince Kurogane giving you, but as you can see...business isn't exactly booming." Without another word, Yuuko fished out several bills from her cleavage.

"Will that be enough?" She said sweetly, and upon closer inspection, they proved to be in the triple digits. Fai's eyes widened to blue saucers.

"Are t-those hundreds?" Watanuki, by now used to Yuuko's mysterious wealth (She had an empty fourteen acre lot and manor for god's sake,) simply got out the closing binder.

"You're short 3.54" "Watanuki!" Fai exclaimed in exasperation.

Yuuko merely smirked. "Let's not forget that I've covered you also. I guess it should be taken out of your pay cheque, hm?"

Watanuki blanched and silently put the binder back. Fai sighed with a small smile. "It's fine, we cleared your debt since the day you started here."

Watanuki stared at Fai in mute surprise and clears his throat. "I'll be right back."

The both of them let his footfalls fade into the kitchen.

"We have a problem." Fai cocked a brow at this.

"Pardon?" Yuuko sighed and leaned into the table, face weary.

"There's something I need to tell you."

Watanuki almost turned back around when he saw who it was. Sakura was slowly mixing the red velvet batter and looked entirely downcast. Her hair was less shinier, her green eyes looked dimmer, and she was radiating doom and gloom. Watanuki tip toed away from the scene and froze when she lifted her gaze, pinning him on the spot. She forced a smile.

"Hey,"

"Hey..." She dropped her gaze bake to the batter and started to beat the living shit out of it.

"Having a good day so far?" He was almost positive that by the way she was beating that mixture, it was probably supposed to be him. He gulped and mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like a 'yeah.' A pregnant pause sustained between the both of them, and Watanuki took at his cue to leave.

"Wait!" Sakura called out, a shameful blush on her cheeks.

"Are we good?"

Watanuki forced a smile, feeling a shiver of revulsion tickle his spine in response.

"We're fine."

"That little _shit._" Fai growled, his blue eyes cold with fury. Yuuko bowed her head and said nothing, hoping Watanuki wouldn't walk in at that moment. Just her luck, in he walked.

"Um, we have an order for later today, do you want me to get started on it no-"

"_Why didn't you tell me?_" Fai whirled, seething with anger. Watanuki's mouth fell open in confusion.

"Huh?"

"I think it should be worth knowing that my employees run a drug lab in the basement!" The blond widened his eyes in realization.

"So that's all the work he's been making you do?"

The owner paced and started to mumble to himself, wringing out his hands. Watanuki forced a glare at the witch in the corner, because that's exactly what she was.

"It seems you didn't tell the full story." The baker said chillingly. Yuuko avoided his eyes.

"Did you, now?" Fai smiled, eyes still dark with repressed anger.

"It's...not the first kind of trafficking Watanuki's ever done."

"Oh my god." Fai stared in shock at Watanuki, still coldly glaring at Yuuko.

"The both of you...just get out." Fai's arms were limp at his sides, and he only made it to his office before he fell into his swivel chair, boneless and tired.

They weren't even out on the street when Watanuki snapped. Luckily, there weren't any bystanders.

"HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?" He started to sob. "I'VE ONLY HAD ONE JOB. THIS WASN'T YOUR SECRET TO TELL!"

He started to shiver, his jacket was still inside and it was starting to snow. He shoved his arms into his shirt and cradled the warmth there.

"NOW EVERYONE KNOWS! WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO NOW?" Yuuko went to open her mouth but Watanuki didn't want to give her the opportunity to talk. He shook his head. "You know what? I see what this is. I owe you too much dough over the years and its about time I paid my way, right?"

He got out his wallet from his back pocket and started to collect the crumpled twenties and his Friday night paycheck.

"Take it. Take it all-" he threw the bills at her shamelessly, taking note of her shell shocked hurt. Yuuko was so astounded by his audacity that she made no move to defend herself. S

he had good intentions, she just wanted to end this farce of drug trafficking. It was consuming his life. Yuuko had thought of herself as his guardian over the years (never family, there were gaps that the both of them couldn't fill.) It didn't matter if Watanuki had Doumeki with him, if he continued to associate with the filth, he would eventually be engulfed in so much grime of her world, he would never be clean again. Yuuko's teacher had taught her few valuable lessons in their trade,

_'Don't meddle. Our worlds will never be the same, it does no good to mix the two.'_

How she wished she had listened to the old woman, now crippled with disease and debts. With the life she lived, she knew she would die alone, and Watanuki was setting himself up for that life without being aware of it. She felt sick to her stomach at the thought and shut down, continuing to let the red faced youth yell, no longer processing what he was saying (yelling) instead, choosing to let Watanuki decide for himself.

At some point, tears had gathered in his eyes and he wiped them away, heart hammering in his chest, an annoying reminder of his lack of composure. Yuuko's face was closed off and he opened his mouth to say something-something meaningful. He wanted the last word, the word that ended these confrontations. For once, Watanuki wanted to be the calm one, in control. He closed his mouth and shook his head, not trusting his voice. He turned his back on the woman and collected the bills he had thrown and walked away. He didn't get far before the tears resurfaced. He was back where he was a few months ago, penniless, inexperienced, and alone. Inquisitive hazel eyes caught sight of him and decided to offer comfort, her dark pigtails bouncing behind her.

* * *

Kurogane cracked his neck and fanned himself with Fai's catering menu. He was sweating profusely despite the chilling weather, he stripped off his sweater and ran a hand through his still drying hair. He thought he'd indulge and pump some iron at the gym, having been in stasis for too long.

Before Kurogane had met Fai, he had been involved in gang activity.

Every couple had their secrets, and Kurogane had uncovered long ago that Fai wasn't even his lover's name, he was using his brother's. The blond had never mentioned siblings, but in the back of his mind he knew that behind that cheery smile, he had done terrible things. Their confrontation two years back had put a strain on their relationship, and Kurogane had relapsed back into business with Tomoyo, while the blond took time off to return back to Norway. He loved lurking as a guardian in the night where the light of the moon never fell, as if knowing what evils took place in abandoned warehouses and slim alleys. He loved the thrill of a brawl, the fight clubs, the money, he loved it all.

But more than that, he loved Fai.

The two had met at this bakery, which had not been theirs at the time. Kurogane brushed the blood off his knuckles and winced at the slight cracking sound it made. It was pushing three in the morning but there were no cars, no buses, the street was perfectly empty, once blanketed in snow that was untouched by footprints and the like. He examined the few commercial buildings and the theatre with distaste. "What a dump,"

He preferred his upstate apartment in the Soho/Tribeca area. He was close to having it paid off and was smug with the realization that he could carry on with the rest of his life without having to work relatively hard. He was in his mid-twenties and life couldn't really get any better. As far as he was concerned, he was living the dream.

"Hey," He was roused from his thoughts by a small voice and looked up, not really listening.

A blond had his back turned to him, staring at the pastel pink bakery in wonder. "Is it true what they say about New York? Is it really the place where dreams are made of?"

Kurogane saw their reflections in the class, him, a gangly behemoth next to the almost effeminate man. His pale cheeks were gaunt and his lips cracked. He shook his head, maybe he was seeing things. It _was _three in the morning after all.

"I don't know, kid." He automatically corrected himself when he saw the blond extend more to his full height.

"It's not for everybody." The blond stayed silent, choosing not to say a word. Lost in his thoughts, he was unaware of the way his piercing blue eyes had bore into Kurogane's.

Feeling just the slightest bit uncomfortable (and no one had ever intimidated Kurogane since his mother had found out she stealing from her purse) he backed away, letting himself fade into the shadows. The blond was still staring into the shop window when he was well into the distance.

The next night had followed the same pattern, meeting with Tomoyo, then meet with the dealers, collect fees, go home. He cut through this particular neighborhood because the police never made an appearance and he could wander in peace and be left to his thoughts. And maybe a little part of him was curious to see if the blond was still staring through shop windows. Before he left, he felt compelled to visit Little Italy since it was close to his apartment and pick up a cannoli.

He doesn't understand why he did it, he never had much of a sweet tooth, but maybe that kid was staring at the bakery so much because he was living on trash and he was hungry for real food. He wouldn't blame the guy, you had to make virtually nothing to be living here. Kurogane had a heart, he didn't want the kid to starve. The blond was like a scared cat, and maybe he was the slightest bit interested in gaining the kid's trust. _But once you start to feed a cat, it comes back. _For some reason, the thought unsettles him so much he bites into the pastry, sickeningly sweet ricotta cheese coating his tongue. He forces himself to enjoy it and lets his eyes slide across the street.

"Looking for someone?"

"GAH!"

He chokes on the pastry and pounds at his chest to get the crunchy shell to dislodge from his windpipe. Lanky arms come to loop around his waist and proceeds to use the Heimlich maneuver, and jam his fists in quick, upward motions. He falls to his knees and hacks the offending pastry, now a disgusting glob.

"ugh," he wipes the back of his hand over his mouth and avoids the sight of it. His stomach rolls nauseously.

"Sooo, I saved your life. Does that owe me a favor?"

He glares at the cheery blond. "Save? You were the reason I was choking, asshole!" The cannoli had fallen out of hands at some point.

"Ok, fine. Here." He passes the cannoli to the blond who wrinkles his nose slightly.

"After you bit it?" After a murderous glance the blond acquiesces without another word.

They sit side by side on the curb, lightly blanketed by a sheet of snow. The blond munches it quietly and glances at the giant. "So, what brings you to this part of the town?"

"Business," he grunts, a little distracted by the way the blond licks his lips to retrieve a bit of filling. The blond simply nods, he doesn't want to know what constitutes as business to a burly man in the early hours of the day. He's a bit caught off guard when the man turns to him.

"You?" The blond glances behind the bodybuilder.

"I guess you could say business."

"Thinking of taking over the bakery?"

"Nah, not yet. Maybe someday."

"Is that why you stare at it a lot?" The blond startles, blushing profusely.

"I'm simply trying to get a feel for what I'm going into!" Kurogane chuckles a bit,

"Still in school? It's a bit early for that don't you think." It was the blonde's turn to stifle a chuckle of his own.

"Actually, I'm well into my thirties. Starting a new business is tough, isn't it?" Kurogane bristles at this. There is no way he's younger than this midget! He doesn't let it show on his face and smirks in agreement.

"It is." Kurogane doesn't know how long the two of them had had been sitting there undisturbed, but he sees the startings of sunrise. It's awfully sudden, but he's really curious.

"What's your name?"

"Fai," the blond says, a minute hesitation in his voice.

Fai turns to look at him, an orange gold glow bathing his face in light. "You?"

He's momentarily stunned by the blonde's radiance and shakes his head to clear those thoughts.

"Kurogane."

A honk interrupted the minute peace between the two. A slim black car pulled up at the corner of the street, its windows tinted but Kurogane swore he could see the faint silhouette of a black haired man inside. Fai visibly startled and jumped to his feet. "Well, that's my cue. See you soon, Kuro-doggy!"

Kurogane's eye twitched at the unwanted nickname and made no move to return the blonde's tentative smile. "Same place as last time, hopefully?"

Fai glanced at him uncertainly, smile still frozen in place. It occurred to the dealer that he was expecting some form of reply. Before Kurogane could respond however, the blond had bounded up to the car and it cruised away swiftly, as if intent to erase any traces that the exchange had ever happened.

It was really bugging him.

He was unable to erase memory of Fai pulling into the stranger's car. He knew what it looked like, a young man waiting on a street corner, only to jump into the spend it in the company of older men. His mind raced with possibilities, the late nights, 'business transactions'. The thought made Kurogane's stomach roll. It sickened him even more to envision said business transactions.

At night he was plagued by fantasies of the blonde's hair falling against his pillow, his skin pink and slick with sweat, of cerulean eyes hooded and half mast, his straight and skinny body arching off his bed. Kurogane cursed to himself and went back to bench pressing, focusing on the burning in his muscles rather than his explicit daydreams. The encouraging grunting noises he made only contributed to the fantasy and he found his hand creeping to the drawstrings of his workout shorts. His fist blurred on his length, a pit in his chest opening up in response. He knew in the back of his mind that it was wrong, but no one had told him that since he was fourteen. He accepted without any further question that he subconsciously may have been attracted to the effeminate man, but years of inbred homophobic teachings blurred the lines between right and wrong. He felt no guilt that he was touching himself to the thought of a man, but struggled with the realization that this man was real, and it only solidified what he already knew. All too soon the fantasy was over, the only evidence that it had even occurred was the milky substance in his hands. Kurogane kid his face into his shoulder, cheeks flooding with unwelcome heat. What was happening to him?

Before he left the apartment that night, he made sure to scrub his hands thoroughly until they were red and raw, content to watch the last of the evidence swirl down the drain with a sense of satisfaction. He wasn't expecting it to be a rough night, it was just a pick-up after all.

Tomoyo got off the bus just as he had left the area. She was smart enough to not take the town car and insisted on leaving with her protector. The two had originally went to the same high school, Tomoyo being a freshman, and him repeating his final year of high school for the second time. There had been no pretense of a friendship from the very beginning.

A petite girl had found him at the lunch servery, her silky black hair braided in two long plaits. She couldn't have been any older than fourteen and spoke to him with steel in her eyes. 'Want to make some money?"

Kurogane dropped out after a month, but Tomoyo went on to graduate with honors, even pursued a degree at a fancy prep school. When he asked her once why she was doing this, she replied dryly that "It was more profitable than sitting in a philosophy lecture with a bunch of prim, sophist assholes that were only interested in furthering their own academic career and the same could be said in politics."

He learned to stop asking her personal questions. That wasn't to say that their friendship grew over the years, but in Kurogane's eyes, it was loyalty. She was his princess in every way that rejected the conventional notion that their relationship was romantic. If anything, it was platonic. It was just knowing that she had chosen him to be her sole protector. Of course. there were others, but they lost themselves somewhere along the way. They paid with jail sentences, crippling addictions, and the worst punishment, death.

They went with the notions mechanically. Two buses and a transfer to the subway, a fifteen minute walk into the nameless town that Kurogane had no idea could still exist and be as close to being off the map as a deserted island. So lost in his thoughts he was unaware of the situation until Tomoyo's shrill voice shrieked beside him, and had gripped his arm with the desperation of a frightened child. She desperately pointed to the young man being beaten senseless by their suppliers.

He dodged the dumpster in the narrow alley and shouted furiously for the punks to move aside and let him handle their little intruder. Kurogane's heart sank when he realized the bloody, mangled face was once Fai's, who lay out cold on the concrete, his hand still twitching sporadically, and stuttering breath the only evidence that he was even alive.

"Move out of the way you fucking idiots!" He took off his hoodie and bent down to wipe the crimson from the blond's pale face. "You awake?"

The blond's breath hitched, his luminous blue eyes blinked open wearily, barely focusing on him.

"Kurogane?"

"How many fingers am I holding up?" A garbled cough like sounding laugh passed through the baker's lips.

"Seriously?"

"How many?"

"..."

"..."

"...Two?"

"You're wrecked."

The blonde's brows furrowed and he winced in pain when it only re-opened a cut above his eye.

"What? I thought I got it right!"

Kurogane shook his head, a bit of amusement in his expression.

"It was twice that amount."

'Should have went with my first guess! Thought I was seeing double."

"So you thought it would be good to lie? Never second guess yourself."

"Sorry to interrupt, but are we already over the fact that he just stole from us?" A kid with a crew cut said calmly, eyes flicking between the two quizzically. Kurogane's head whipped around in disbelief.

"What?"

"Magical lockshmiiiit." Fai slurred, eyes drooping closed. Kurogane stared at Fai, unimpressed. "Sure, so what were you saying?"

"That guy," the kid pointed out, his friends were polishing their knuckles of blood behind him as if they had just lost a game of monopoly than beat a man within a inch of his life. "Sneaked around the back and was stealing from our safe." Kurogane cocked a brow at this.

"Didn't we tell you last time to transfer the money to the online bank account like we promised?"

Tomoyo and Kurogane had set up an account in name of one of her smaller, phony companies and instructed the group to deposit the money like one would a paycheck. Seal the cash in envelopes and deposit four hundred dollars bi-weekly to avoid suspicion but more importantly, taxes. It was not the perfect plan, but at times it was more secure than being paid in cash. They took the money before, and the products came afterward. When the group had revealed that they had a safe, Kurogane had immediately discouraged the use of it, especially its place in the abandoned warehouse where anyone could steal from it, even Fai.

The boy's face turned red and he said nothing, just watching as Kurogane had lifted up the unconcious blond into his arms.

"Where are you going?"

"Tomoyo!' The girl was at his side at once, and the group of kids were staring at the two in disbelief. "Hey! You're just going t-to let him go?"

Kurogane glared at the kid and then he got the hint to shut up. Tomoyo examined them, and said nothing. She had a good intuition, she would be ready to crack jokes in no time.

"Is he giving you fellatio?"

"SHUT UP!"

* * *

The bodybuilder nearly yelled as he flicked on the lights, Fai was staring at him quietly with his fingers laced together under his chin, legs crossed.

"Holy shit! " He fell into one of the chairs. "Scared me half to death."

"Why is Tomoyo informing me that you're getting Watanuki to pick up where Syaoran 'left off?'" "

The smirk fell from Kurogane's lips and he stared at his boyfriend in mute shock.

"Well?"

He had no answer, his eyes falling to his lap instead.

"Today, please."

"Yuui, you know this shithole doesn't pay the bills-"

"Don't call me that!" Fai stood up and clamped his mouth shut, his composure lost and recovered. He cleared his throat, all intimidation gone. "It must have at some point! What do you need all this money for? Didn't you pay off your agreement a long time ago?"

Kurogane's eyes lowered. "That was with the salary Tomoyo gave me. Who can afford to live in SoHo on minimum wage? What was I supposed to do?"

Fai grabbed him by the shoulders, eyes pleading. "You were supposed to tell me. I would've gotten another job, wouldn't have brought Syaoran into all this, and not Watanuki either."

Kurogane's eyes softened. "But you love this place. I couldn't take it away from you even if I tried."

Fai let him go and stepped away. "But this isn't about me. I can't afford part-timers, hell- I don't even need them. That isn't it, the problem is that an innocent boy was subjected to committing a crime. And now, he's gone. What if they don't find him? What do you think Sakura will think?"

Kurogane stiffened and kept his eyes guarded and mumbled soemthign unintelligably.

"Come again?"

"He was saving up for an apartment for the both of them. He volunteered."

The sudden crash of tin against linoleum startled the two. A tear stricken Sakura stood in the doorway, her face a mask of blank shock.

'Sakura!" She turned her back on them and ran, Fai chasing after her.

Kurogane massaged his temples in aggravation. This was a fine mess they had gotten themselves into.


	5. Chapter 5

Part Five

He was jerked awake by a strangled yell.

Doumeki felt his eyes open with difficulty, their heaviness much akin to the feeling of lifting lead. The infuriated shouts began to get louder and more clear, to the point where he was starting to distinguish the words.

"I _asked _you a question, kid!"

A guy- more like a boy- gave a garbled gasp, it sounded like they were beating him. Unbeknownst to the thugs, Doumeki stared on in mute terror at the brunette teeanger, his nose broken and blood plastered to his face as they continued to kick at his jaw. If they continued, it was going to fracture

"How is he supposed to answer if you aren't giving him a chance to talk?"

Doumeki inwardly swore as another teenager turned to him, blue bandana wrapped around his forehead. _Really, you couldn't look anymore thug. _He thought sarcastically, surprised how even his voice had been. The musician had been commended on on his calm many times, but it was only now that such a skill was really necessary.

"He speaks!"

A voice laughed, the echo resounding in the cold, dark place.

Upon further inspection, Doumeki realized his ankles were shackled, as was the brunette across from him, leaning up against metal crates. The only source of light in the room was a streetlight outside, that gave the warehouse a dim, orange glow. It was so frigid it must have been below zero, his only protection against the cold was a thin jacket and t-shirt, along with the pair of pajama pants he wore that morning. The boy across from him that short, somewhat shaggy brown hair and ember eyes. His face was caked with blood and his ankles and wrists looked strained thin behind the shackles, as if he had not eaten for a long time. Doumeki was reminded of Watanuki's worried remark about a boy he had replaced at the bakery.

"I'm not sure if you remember, but you didn't put up much of a fight when we picked you up the other day!"

The voice came from the shadows, but he sounded as if he was greeting an old friend rather than a hostage. Doumeki nodded, the smart thing to do. He wasn't going to attempt a hero speech or ask any questions. Only Sadistic storybook sociopaths really appreciated the drama of such antics. Such as this one.

"Ah, the silent treatment. But I'm sure you'll come to see our way soon enough. Ryou, leave the boy."

Bandana guy stepped away and crossed his arms.

"I'll leave you two to get acquainted. Friends are important!" Ryou stood where he was, before the voice in the shadows snapped. "Don't be rude! Serve them some dinner!"

The boy jumped and glared, muttering as he drifted to some point in the shadows, and opened a big, wide steel door. The quiet sound the door made as it shut was pretty anti-climatic, but brought a sense of finality.

Silence.

"So, what's your name?"

Doumeki was surprised, the brunette weakly lifted himself up to a sitting position. He was pale, sweating, and frankly looked a little nuts. It irked Doumeki in more ways than he would admit. He weighed his pros and cons and decided to hell with it.

"Shizuka Doumeki. You?"

The brunette smiled with crooked teeth, a molar barely hanging off the hinges of hsi smile. "Syaoran."

He glanced at Syaoran in bemusement. "No last name?"

He shook his head. "Not that I know of,"

There was a lull in conversation.

"Sorry," Syaoran said sheepishly. "I'm not very good at talking to people. The only one who really bothers is my girlfriend."

Doumeki nodded in agreement. "Same. What's she like?"

A fond smile made Syaoran seem just a little less sicker. He was practically glowing. "She's the love of my life. We've known eachother since we were seven."

The brunette jostled around a bit more, a bit of pain creeping into his smile. "I was saving up a-" he turned his head and spit out the chipped tooth. "an apartment. Her brother gave me an ultimatum and everything. Even if we broke up, she's my family and I wouldn't have it any other way."

Doumeki nodded again, Syaoran's gushing a welcome distraction from the cold creeping into his bones.

"What about you? Have anybody on the outside?"

Doumeki stared into the glow of the streetlight, reminded of the dim glow in his and Watanuki's apartment. At the mention of Watanuki's name he remembered his flushed face at the fireworks show and the faces the clarinet player had made.

"Something like that."

"Watanuki?"

He jumped at the mention of his name and sniffed, making sure to wipe the tears from his eyes lest their redness give him away.

"Himawari!" he brightened, the actress smiled at him warmly, bundled up in a thick coat that Watanuki was immediately envious of. She was smiling sweetly at him, her charm already wearing him down. Or maybe it was the thick miasma permeating the air around her.

He choked on a cough and pounded his chest for a moment.

Her brows furrowed. "Anything wrong?"

He furrowed his brow for a moment and recovered with a big smile. "Must be a cold. I'm not really dressed for the weather," he gestured to the baker's garb and her eyes widened in worry.

"Oh dear! Let's get you inside! How about that cafe over there?"

"NO!" he blushed at her shock at the sudden yell and cleared his throat. "I mean- I've been there all day! Its really grating on my nerves, you know? Can we go back to your place?"

He mentally slapped himself as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Even to his own ears the lie was so unconvincing it was pitiful.

"Sure thing! I'll make us some hot chocolate, how does that sound?"

"Sounds perfect," he smiled, trying to rub some feeling back into his numb limbs.

"Here," the singer looped her arm around his and pulled him to her side. Her warmth seeped into skin alarmingly, so sudden it felt like shards of ice were breaking in his veins. He flushed at the intimate position as she pulled him along. It almost looked like they were a couple!

"My building is next to Doumeki's, it won't be a long walk."

The street was blissfully empty, and Watanuki thanked his stars. He didn't need Doumeki to start assuming he jumped into bed with every girl he met. Girls had it easy, it was so simple to pin the blame on a man, no matter how incapable he was of the crime. He was sure if Sakura had been malicious enough she could have gotten him locked up on false charges.

He didn't realize how stiffly he was moving his legs until Himawari's calming voice was in his ear. "Just a couple minutes."

To any passerby on the street, it would have looked like a kiss.

To Sakura, it was proof enough. The brunette turned on her heel and headed for her apartment. She had lost Fai at some point, and the blond had eventually given up, believing she needed her time alone.

She turned the key in the lock and rubbed her arms, trying to gain some feeling in them. The heater broke down a few hours before she left, but she could especially feel it now without her jacket. She stripped her clothes, uncaring that if anyone was looking through the window they could have seen her in all her nude glory. The baker adjusted the knobs of her shower and let the hot mist envelop her. She closed her eyes, letting the hot water slide over her body comfortingly, unwinding knots in her muscles.

She loved Syaoran, she really did. There was no doubt in her mind that the two were meant to be together, and the thought of cheating on him made her sick to her stomach.

But then Watanuki had showed up.

All the careful warning signs blaring in head went ignored. The first night Watanuki had shown up at the bakery, a year ago, drenched and empty looking and being dragged in by Yuuko, she felt something. Even when Syaoran was kissing her neck at night and his arms wrapped around her, she was thinking of _Watanuki. _

Syaoran was too patient and kind and chivalrous, and Watanuki was Yuuko's boy toy. All the things she saw and loved in Syaoran, she saw in the skinny male. Syaoran could give her all that she needed, but Watanuki could give her what she wanted. She wanted to be able to feel one with a person, to have that deep physical bond of being joined together between the sheets. if Syaoran understood, he said nothing, not questioning when she mumbled his name in her sleep, or the longer than necessary glances she shot Watanuki from behind the counter.

Touya's overprotectiveness, contrary to popular belief, was not really meant to protect her. Sakura had a very insatiable sexual appetite that lead to her once promiscuous nature and at one point, the seduction of her brother's boyfriend, Yukito. She felt no shame, even if it hurt her brother, which was why Touya was reluctant to meet Syaoran. The two had a close bond and were introduced through Yukito when she was younger. Syaoran knew about the late nights she would crawl into his bed after spending it with the boys in his class, unable to face Touya's silent disapproval and Yukito's quiet jealousy.

It had all changed when Sakura began to realize what she was doing.

Syaoran's cousin, his fiance, originally, had come to visit. The three had drove up to a six flags and spent the day on rollercoasters and made it the most memorable day of the summer. She remembers volunteering to go buy drinks, and when she turned back in the distance, seeing the black haired girl lean over and lock lips with the brunette.

Anger.

Her impression of Mei-lin, hilarious, dirty, a joy to be around, was now boiled down to the _slut _that kissed her best friend.

But Syaoran wasn't hers.

She stopped going after the boys in his class, but she still sneaked into his bed at nights, and over time, instead of staying at opposite ends, they wrapped their arms around each other and exchanged sweet nothings. It was warm, perfect, sweet, _right._

It must have been how Syaoran felt when she came home each night smelling of _them, _and how the rage boiled in his veins, and he suffered quietly, as each brush and shift on the mattress sent his heart racing, but knew it meant nothing to the girl sharing his pillow. They weren't even together when he broke off the engagement.

So Sakura knew, even if Syaoran had not been missing the night she seduced Watanuki, he would have understood. In fact, her ultimate fantasy was for her to be sandwiched between Watanuki and Syaoran. To watch the two males caress each other, and for her to be an active party. When Syaoran went missing, it felt possible and she didn't hesitate, damning what the blue eyed boy would have thought.

It shouldn't have _hurt _seeing Himawari and Watanuki walk side by side.

She stepped out of the shower, the water now running cold on her pruney skin. She sighed and layed on the bath mat, wet and still very much naked. She inhaled a laborious breath and let her hand drift between her legs, Watanuki still on her mind.

"Hey! Hey idiot, wake up!"

Doumeki felt tempted to leave his eyes shut just to spite the nagging voice yelling at him. It sounded a little too familiar for comfort, the rudeness reminding him very much of-

"I swear, you are not getting any tonight if you don't open your eyes."

Watanuki.

He could be wrong. What person in their right mind used sex as a selling point? On second thought, it worked.

He cracked an eye open, and lo and behold, it was Watanuki.

Although dressed in some flamboyantly effeminate kimono that spoke volumes of color that were harmful to the eye and- was that a giant butterfly sash?

The boy-although he looked more slim and mature, comfortable in his own skin, considering what he was wearing. At this point, Doumeki was sure it was an apparition and opened his other eye to silently gawk.

The Watanuki look-a-like rolled its eyes. "Nice to know that some things never change."

"Who..."

"Are those earrings? Jeez, and they call me the fairy."

The apparition circled him and mumbled, eyes glazed over in observation. The look had Doumeki squirming in his place, and his pants tightened a bit as they scaled his body.

What? Leave him alone. He was allowed to have all the dream boners he wanted.

"Knowing you, you most likely think you're hallucinating. Good, at least you have some common sense that I'd usually applaud you for, you neanderthal. Anyways, here's a warning."

He loomed over Doumeki suddenly, blue eyes fierce and-okay-very sexy at this point. They were grave and Doumeki bit back the urge to swallow around the lump in his throat.

"No matter what Rondart asks you to do, refuse. I don't give a fuck whether he tries to put a gun to my head, or whoever else. It's a bluff, and..." by now he catches sight of the tent in his pants and jumps back, cheeks filling with color and clears his throat, turning away.

"...Keep doing what you're doing with me. You're doing a good job."

Doumeki blinks at this, confusion written all over his expression.

_Rondart?_

His mind is wiped clean from his former puzzlement when Watanuki bends over and pushes up his fringe, planting a gentle kiss on his forehead.

He disappears.

Doumeki's own skin feels warm and itchy and his heart feels like it can't beat any harder against his ribcage. _Did he just...? _

He writes it off to Insomnia, seeing Syaoran doze against the crates.

Kyle Rondart.

Certified Family Physician, studied in Pharmacology and Medicine, sponsor of AIDS awareness, and small town Mobster.

Kyle was an emotional kid, troubled by the death of his parents, and felt a deep hatred that festered in his chest as each child in his orphanage was taken, all except for _him. _He didn't understand why, he was a bright kid, polite even. He made no quarrel with the other children, even when they sat on his chest and broke his glasses and stole his things. So he waited, and waited, for a soul that would never come. Until he came.

The air around him was thick with something-wealth most likely, because who dared to wear a monocle in present day New York without the money to back it up? The man had strange hair and smirk that spoke of a million dirty things and Kyle was so interested that he didn't bother staying in the playroom like they instructed. He went right up to the man and stared.

The man with the monocle simply smirked and pointed out to him like he found the perfect gift. "That one. I'll take it."

Fei Wong Reed, as he had come to understand later, had no intention of ever loving him like a son. Instead of the thought making him feel empty however, he welcomed it. Anything to get away from that filthy place overcrowded with undeservings kids and terrible food, and he had his own _bed. _Reed's wife, whatever she was, was a quiet woman that he had only seen a few times. Her presence was ghost like, but she was the closest thing he had to a mother. He recalled a blanket pulled around him without his knowing, a plate of dinner wrapped in saran wrap when he came home late from the holidays. The mysterious salary man had sent him off to boarding school the minute the transcripts were finalized, and exuded pride when he came back, fresh from med school to Reed's side on his deathbed.

Kyle may have had some reservations when the drug started showing up in his rooms, and when Xing Huo informed him that she didn't matter what he did as long as he passed Chemistry. It dawned on Rondart that Reed wanted him to carry on his legacy.

Xing Huo disappeared when Reed passed, the slut taking all his assets with her. He had no desire to look for her, until he had come upon her a few months ago.

She had returned to New York out of the blue, and attempted to free one of his prisoners.

The curly haired woman lay limp, her arms pinned above her head and held in place by rope. With her eyes closed, she looked so much younger than he remembered. She could not have been any older than twenty the first he saw her, and he was twelve. She looked bruised and delicate and he was struck by the urge of wanting to _taste _her. The mouth Reed must have claimed, the mouth that lied and deceived and manipulated. He held himself back, not giving into his impulses.

"Morning, sleeping beauty."

Xing Huo's eyes blinked open heavily, and shot open at the sight of him. Her jaw hung open.

"Surprised to see me? You did trespass."

Her mouth clamped shut, her lips pulled into a thin white line. It was the most emotional he had ever seen the woman, she looked absolutely beautiful, with her shoulders tensed and gaze radiating silent panic. Rondart squashed the want to make those eyes more panicked.

The whole thing felt like a giant puzzle, he was unaware of the web of all the game players, each interconnected and all seeking his head.

Watanuki, and Syaoran.

Both shared a part in the drug war about to erupt, whether they knew it or not.


	6. Chapter 6

Part Six

It really shouldn't be normal for smoke like fumes to arise from the red ceramic mug like it did, and the baker was having a hard time deciding whether or not to write it off to hallucinations or not.

"Drink up!" she chirped, falling into the seat across from him.

He gave the cup an appraising look, and tried not to let the cringe show on his face as he sipped the instant hot chocolate. It tasted a bit smoky, but it would have been really sad if Himawari wasn't even able to master the art that was preparing instant hot chocolate. At least he could say it was made with love.

"How is it?"

"Good," he lied, twisting his mouth at the sound of it. "Is the show over? Doumeki's been taking a lot of time off lately."

She gave him an odd look. "He quit."

The baker stared back in a similar fashion, confusion coloring his words. "What do you mean?"

"Doumeki's stopped working at the theatre since November, it was all kind of sudden." she frowned, a little contemptuously. Without Doumeki, she wasn't showcased as nicely as she liked, his lack of presence contributed to a few incidences such as faulty floorboards, and blown out stage lights. Her bad luck was often taken as a joke, but it was a bit severe at the moment.

Watanuki's jaw unhinged at this, just the slightest bit. "What has he been doing? "

Himawari gave him a bewildered look. "I would assume you'd know, you two live together after all. "

A pit formed in his stomach.

_I don't really know anything about him..._

"Watanuki? "

"Sorry, I think I'll head back home. "

"Oh. Let me see you to the door then! "

He nodded and didn't think anything of the hand she rested on the small of his back or the slight twinge to her grin.

He thanked his stars that the buildings were next to each other and reached for his keys.

His brows furrowed when the door creaked open on its own.

He froze, staring at the patch of dried blood on the floor, only illuminated by the orange glow on the linoleum tile. Bile rises to his throat and his heart nearly stops.

"No..." he whispered hoarsely, wrapping his arms tightly around himself, hot tears painfully springing to his eyes.

"NO!"

He dropped to his knees and couldn't contain the hysterical noises ripping out of his chest, his breath stolen by the heaves wracking his insides.

"WHY?! " he cried out between gasps. The tears pouring from his eyes endlessly, the animalistic sounds were no longer his own, transforming into more frighteningly painful cries.

Everything was falling apart.

All he wanted was to go to culinary school-No.

All he wanted was to be happy. Was that too much to ask?

_"What are you writing? "_

_Doumeki deemed it safe to shrug his shoulders and return his look of curiosity. "A love song."_

Oh.

The atmosphere was tense when they retired to the apartment, closing up shop earlier than usual.

Fai didn't even respond when he brushed his fingers over the blonde's on the way back.

Kurogane was aware that he had betrayed Fai's trust with the burden of Syaoran's disappearance and Watanuki's involvement, but it was no excuse to treat him that way!

The blonde's web of lies were so extensive they fooled even him. He still loved the blond through it, but he felt a familiar spark of rage when the sentiment wasn't returned.

"Do you want me to _congratulate _you? " The older man crossed his arms, the venom is his tone so poisonous sounding that Kurogane found his own self-control corroding.

"Ofcourse not! " he said hotly, gripping his hair in his fists.

"This is out of my hands! There's nothing I can do about this. "

Fai's eyes widened almost comically at this. "_There's nothing you can do? _You brought him into this! You are a 220 pound, 6'2 behemoth! Syaoran is half your weight and size! How the hell can he defend himself?! Why aren't you taking responsibility for this? How hard is it to admit that its your fault? "

**"BECAUSE IT ISN'T! "** He finally snapped, the truth slipping from his lips like the dam to a floodgate. **"I DIDN'T PROPOSITION HIM! HE** **CAME TO **_**ME **_**FOR THE JOB! " **It hit him all at once, the pain of losing Syaoran. He was like the son Kurogane wished he had, silent, strong, kindhearted. The festering of self-deprecation in his chest whenever Sakura had that lost look on her face, Fai not going anywhere near Syaoran's old work station lest he burst into tears. The way he spent every night at the gym crunching iron to distract himself that the pain he felt was in his exhausted muscles, not the hurt on the inside.

Fai looked as if all the wind had been taken out of him, growing paler at each monstrous dry heave he felt as he broke down. He was always the strong one. All his life, he's tried to be the anchor that every body's wanted, but he. couldn't do it anymore.

He just wanted Syaoran back.

Fai fell to his knees in front of Kurogane and threaded his fingers through the coarse hair."Shh... " he whispered into his neck, his voice. doing that soft comforting lilt that was reserved for when Sakura got hurt, and Kurogane melted into the spot where shoulder met neck and buried his tear stricken face into the blonde's nape, uncaring of pride and dignity. "I'm sorry."

Yuuko lit the fire in her chambers and pulled up an arm chair, wearing nothing but a deep purple satin lingerie set and let her hair down. The kindling caught and sparked to life, its orange glow growing brighter as embers chased away the remains of the crumpled papers and matches she had haphazardly thrown into the fray. The dim glow softened her features in the dark room, casting flattering shadows on the burgundy walls. Firecracker red nails skimmed along her scalp and she hummed a jazz tune under her breath to combat the silence of the room and the crackle of flames before her. She was a lot calmer now than she felt that afternoon and relaxed further back into the cushions. She paused when she heard the faint knocking on the door.

Yuuko debated putting some more clothes on and decided against it. She peered down at herself to make sure her unmentionables weren't showing and pushed herself off of the velvet.

Watanuki didn't look the least bit startled at her lack of attire to which she cocked a brow at. "Finally realized that deep down, your gay?"

"Fuck off," he muttered without missing a beat. Yuuko noticed the skin under Watanuki's eyes was rubbed raw and red. A wave of apprehension passed through her.

"Doumeki's gone."

All hell broke loose.

"How long has it been, Syaoran?"

Doumeki could claim he wasn't afraid but Rondart's voice instinctively raised the hairs on the back of his neck. He shuddered silently, trying to pinpoint the voice in the dark. It seemed everywhere and nowhere all at once, a thought more frightening then whatever awaited for them.

Syaoran lay against the crates, eyes glazed over and unresponsive. He was half slumped in place, his spine arched in what was probably the most uncomfortable position, and he sat on his knees. Doumeki hadn't seen him change position since had had gotten there. It alarmed him when he realized how long the brunette's captivity probably was.

Doumeki himself thought that maybe Syaoran was as dead on the outside then on the inside until he heard the murmur.

His voice was thick with phlegm and fatigue, but his quiet voice was still clear to Doumeki's ears.

"A few months."

"And have I not, given you a bed, meals to eat, and privacy?"

_Come again? _Doumeki thought angrily, once again focusing on the faint smell of urine, the cold darkness, and the shackles around his limbs.

Syaoran didn't speak for a moment.

"Yes." he croaked pathetically, sounding like the sound of the word itself was physically hurting him.

_What?_

"But you abused my trust. And I don't like people I can't trust."

Doumeki's eyes widened as Kyle Rondart came into his view for the first time.

He was thin and sallow looking, wore glasses over blue eyes that were dark with sinister depths. He wore a cravat (really?) tucked into a collar of an all black ensemble, that looked more fitting as an aristocrat than a mobster. Or you know, Halloween came early.

Rondart swayed over to Syaoran and tipped his head back, appraising the brunette with a critical eye.

"Hmm, not my type," he drawled, his other hand coming to rest on the boy's cheek. "But you'll have to do." he sighed, as if reluctantly subjecting himself to a horrible misdemeanor. Realization clicked in his head at the same time it did for Syaoran. Horror had barely registered before all the fight he thought had bled out of Syaoran came screeching back only a couple feet away from him.

**"NOOOO!" **The sound of Syaoran's cries for help and the sound of the belt pulled through the loops of Kyle's slacks were even worse behind his closed lids. He couldn't even cover his ears because of the shackles they had added to him a while ago.

Doumeki wasn't too much of a perverse man, some even called him chaste. His grandfather had been a spiritual man, not very religious but had stressed virtue as an importance. He didn't feel the pressure to have sex growing up, honestly believing that waiting for the one was the right thing to do. He was kissed once, by a drunken women at one of his venues but she was bored of his inexperience and left precious seconds after her tongue invaded his mouth.

Syaoran's screams turned into protests, to pleading. He was still fighting, lifting his fists above Rondart's head, reigning them down on his back. Doumeki tried to pretend that with his eyes closed, all Syaoran was crying about was because he was missing his girlfriend, as his breaths hitched and the strangled gasps and murmurs of 'no' weren't filled with pain, and horror, and degradation.

Tears squeezed behind his eyes because _when is it going to stop?_

Doumeki counted back from four hundred several times, the only number he could recall perfectly without losing track, but it didn't hinder the sounds not too far from him to resound in his ears with startling clarity.

"You're next," Kyle yawned nonchalantly as he cleaned himself up, "If you follow Syaoran's example."

Rage. It bubbled up in his throat and spread to his chest and all he could see was red. He strained against his shackles, visibly shaking with pent up aggression. Kyle gave him a bemused look.

"Cute," he drawled in passive amusement and slipped back into the shadows.

The musician shivered, cold fear replacing the boiling rage he felt before, Syaoran's whispered protests persisted long after Kyle left and well into the night, only gradually fading as his voice grew more and more hoarse. Night wasn't even a proper measure of time anymore, cloaked in permanent darkness. He could feel his reason slipping away as he started to cry along with Syaoran, the weight of his situation sunk in heavily, thoughts chased away as the fog pulled him under.

"What's your name?"

The girl didn't dare make eye contact with the stranger, instead pulling a thread along the hem of her pants.

The stranger sighed at the strange girl's silence. "Smart girl you are than, my name is Fei Wong Reed of Reed Enterprises. Well-that last part was unnecessary. . I tend to be bad at these..things."

The girl perked up, surprised at the sound of her own timid voice. "Introductions?"

"And so she speaks!" The man, kindly had salt and pepper hair and thick wire framed glasses, dressed smartly in a pair of grey slacks, suspenders, and a white button up, but when he smiled at her she instantly shrank back. His smile wavered but he chose to sit by her, unperturbed by her aversion to contact. "But yes, I suck at self-introductions. My co-workers like to speak for me, as does everybody else. Fei Wong is hardworking, innovative, blah blah blah-how can they know any of that? They've never met me!"

The dark haired girl twirled her hair in between her fingers, springy curls bouncing up to her cheek as she smiled the slightest bit. Fei Wong unexpectedly flushed a dark red and sputtered. "B-But that's not very exciting is it?"

"Go on," she said quietly, pulling her knees to her chest and tilting her head to show her interest. Fei Wong knew with growing discomfort that he found her to be a little too alluring.

"Well," his eyes fell to his loafers, noticing with a start that her feet were bare and frostbitten. He chewed the inside of his cheek, finding it difficult to carry on with this facade of casualty. "I'm very insecure about my Cantonese! Speaking of.." he looked back at her again, her violet eyes inquisitive. "You speak very good English. Can I assume that you aren't from around the area?"

The violet eyed girl stared longingly after a street vendor loudly proclaiming the best dim sum in town in broken English. "I've lived in Hong Kong all this time."

"English Medium School?"

She paused thoughtfully before answering. "Yeah."

Fei jerked away from her suddenly, the curly haired girl jumped out of her skin as the business man jumped to his feet.

"Shit. I had a meeting!" he whipped around to point a finger at her. "You! Will you be here when I get back?"

"U-Uh Um-yeah?" she stammered, lavender eyes wide and confused.

"Good! I'll be a couple hours aaaand," he turned around a couple times, at this point looking the slightest bit ridiculous. "We'll get Dim Sum! See ya!"

The man waved spasticly at her, and she stifled a snort and waved back before catching herself. He kept waving as he disappeared into some point in the distance, the sea of people swarmed in his place, as if he had stopped time simply by occupying the space next to her. She took in the darkening sky and slight chill to the air and decided to wait it out.

She appraised the streetlights flickering to life, the constant buzz of _something _in the air that filtered through each and every person, sprouting from the mouths of giggling high school girls deep in conversation, foreigners harmonizing with distant sounds of heavy traffic, produced a massive wall of continuous sound. She could never grow bored of it, sometimes focusing on bits and pieces of conversations, and closed her eyes to discern where each voice started and stopped.

As time crawled on, however, she begun to grew antsy. Where was Fei Wong? He said a couple hours, but as the sun dipped into the horizon and darkness descended upon Hong Kong, he was nowhere to be found. If she didn't get home soon uncle would-

"Wait!"

She had just gotten up and begun to walk in the other direction when an arm grabbed hers.

She turned to the stranger grabbing her arm and widened her eyes.

"The shops were going to close and-"

"Thank you," she breathed, taking the box from him gratefully.

Fei Wong smiled at her in return, watching her face transform as she peeled back the lid with a look of teary surprise.

"Y-you didn't have to-"

"I wanted to," Fei Wong's as she stared down at the no nonsense long black boots sitting innocently in the box, just waiting to be worn.

"I can't pay you back," she whispered, unable to speak around the lump forming in her throat and the tears threatening to fall from her eyes.

"All you have to do," he said softly, putting a hand to her head. "Is talk with me."

She slipped into the apartment as silently as she had always done before, the door not even falling shut with a 'click.' She tip toed, light on her feet, to the closet in the living room that she had claimed as her safe haven.

"Where have you been?"

_So close yet so far_. She thought bitterly.

"Outside."

"Didn't I tell you not to show your face outside?"

She chose to remain silent, fighting against the instinct to lash out.

"Answer me!"

She winced at the shout and curled in on herself. The show of weakness was her first mistake.

"What's wrong?" he said in a sickeningly sweet voice. "Why are you so _scared?_" he trailed the back of his hand down her arm. She gritted her teeth and repressed the shudder of revulsion.

It always plays out like this. Uncle wanting to hide her away from the world, and when she showed the slightest bit of fear, it excited him. Excited him so much he liked to act on his impulses.

A few years ago, she and her mother lived in a closet. She could only leave when uncle wasn't home and when he was, she couldn't make a sound. It was a bit like Anne Frank, her mother had said.

She had no idea who Anne Frank but just being told that someone was going through something similar was comforting enough.

When she asked by uncle didn't want to see her, she ignored how the color drained from her face.

"Your daddy was...a man uncle didn't like."

She opened her mouth to enquire that she didn't know much about her father to begin with before she was cut off.

"Your daddy was a good man but he got caught up in the wrong crowd. Your uncle has always been...protective of me."

"Why?"

It was such a simple question, unburdened by childhood innocence, but too difficult to answer.

She opened her mouth and froze, as the sound of the door in the apartment closed.

"_Go!Go!_" she shouted in her loudest whisper voice and pushed the small girl to the closet.

"Huo?" uncle darted a suspicious eye around the frail, matronly woman passively knitting by the closet.

"Yes?" Huo smiled as if everything was alright, but behind her passive exterior her heart was beating like a jackhammer.

"Who were you talking to?"

"Oh," beads of sweat collected at the back of her neck from what the young girl saw in the gaps of the wood. "Just myself. I get lonely, you know."

"You know its for your own good," he said in a soft voice and lay a comforting hand on her knee, but if anybody had looked deeper they would see the displeased lines around his mouth, and the way he tensed, tightened his grip on her knee to bring her closer.

"I won't let them have you," after a moment his tone grew urgent and his eyes widened, frazzled and distraught. "Your mine! They can't have you, your mine."

"Yours," she said weakly, only to placate him but the young girl didn't miss the way he perked up at this.

"Mine?"

"Always."

The violet eyed girl wished she could have covered her eyes at that point.

"minemine_mine._"

Huo slumped into herself as uncle's arms came around her, and unless anyone had been hiding in the closet like the young girl had, they would have missed the tensing of Huo's shoulders and her short, tortured gasp.

"Here?" she squeaked, her arms coming out to fend him off before thinking better of herself at the way uncle's brow twitched at her slight hesitance. "I mean, can we go to the bedroom. _Please?"_

"Why does it matter?" his face, once drunk with love started to harden. His grip on her shoulders grew tighter and Huo winced and shrunk in herself further, if that was even possible.

"Besides," he stroked her cheek, eyes softening. "We're alone."

_No, you're not. _The young girl thought impatiently with a swell of pride. This was the closest uncle had ever gotten to her and he didn't even notice she was there!

"okay," Huo whispered, and the girl didn't like it anymore. Her mother wasn't supposed to be that quiet. She was supposed to firm, and reproachful, not blank and submissive.

Clothing was shed like snakeskins, the picture unravelling in shades of cream and pastel. The girl was a bit dumbfounded and maybe the slightest bit jealous. One time she had wandered through the kitchen without wearing her dress and her mother had clamped a vice like grip on her arm and repeated to her in low, frustrated tones that she was never to be without clothes again unless she was in perfect privacy. But they never left the apartment, so what was privacy? It was a word that confused her, and of the many that Huo always expected her to grasp.

The sounds weren't quiet painful, but they grated on her ears. The violet eyed girl shifted on the pile of towels she sat on, covering her ears and let her eyes wander between the two curiously as she caught simples of colors she had never really seen before except on the TV she was allowed to watch once in a while. They made a very interesting scene of sweat slicked bodies that moved together like a two backed beast, devoid of the barriers of clothing that separated them from the mammals that people liked to think they were better than. The young girl marveled at the dark rod that joined her mother and uncle together and then lost interest after their sounds grow louder and more obnoxious before falling silent.

Instead of coming back to the closet, Huo lay where she was and slowly put her clothes back. Uncle took her by the arm back to his room, and she almost missed the teary, red rimmed look her mother sent her before the door closed.

"Are you ignoring me?"

"No," the violet eyed teenager said neutrally, not flinching at the tough hand on her shoulder.

"Good," she heard the sadistic smile in his tone before she saw it and stiffened at the shock of sensation pulling at her.

Cold fury built up in her as her eyes fell down to the calloused hand grasping her breasts and kneading them, imitating a massage.

"You look just like your mother," uncle said in quiet awe, taking advantage of her hesitance to sweep her legs from under her.

She slipped on the linoluem, her uncle following her on the way down to attach his ravenous lips to her jaw and his hand to slip under her shirt. She couldn't contain the volume of her pitched scream and kicked at him as if she were fighting for her life, her heeled sole pierced the skin of his nose and nicked the corner of his eye.

She forgot she was still wearing the heeled boots Fei Wong had bought her.

"MOTHER FU-" Uncle held his profusely bleeding face and stumbled back from her.

She took advantage of his stunned stupor and scrambled frantically to her feet to the apartment door, still ajar from when she had sneaked in.

She tripped a few times and didn't even bother with the left at the pace of her running and thundered down the emergency escape. She told half a second to yank the heeled boots off and kept running, the wind whipped at her face and tearing her eyes.

The violet eyed girl had no destination in mind before glancing at her surroundings as her throat started to burn in protest.

The Dim Sum cart.

She saw the elderly man and tried her luck when she saw that uncle was nowhere near in the distance.

"Excuse me-" she wheezed, voice hoarse from dehydration and paused. What exactly was she trying to ask?

The elderly man, white heard and kindly eyes turned his attention to her. Not threatening at alll.

She cleared her throat uncertainly, bitterly wishing for a sip of some water. "Do you know where Reed enterprises is?" she recited in broken Cantonese, when she glanced at the rough characters etched into the cart.

The old man perked up as if remembering something and went to the back of his cart.

The violet eyed girl stood stock still when he sat up to pass her a takeout container.

"No-no I'm not hungry-"

She was starving actually.

The old man shook his head and tapped the sticky note on top.

_Sorry I was late_

_If you ever need anything_

She frowned at the incomplete note, not signed until she saw the business card taped to the back.

_Promise I'll share tomorrow_

_Fei Wong Reed_

_016475476824_

The violet eyed girl didn't even touch the dim sum, that must have gone cold not even fifteen minutes ago, her eyes filling with the tears she had not shed since the events of that day played back in her mind.

She sniffed and ducked her head, stiffening when the elder man patted her back and gave her a toothless smile. "He coming," he stuttered in broken English.

The old man wrapped up his supplies and left, not so subtly pointing at the crawlspace in the cart and the fabric lining the inside with mitts, an apron, and a long blanket. She distantly wondered if maybe he had to sleep here sometimes.

She waited until the old man turned his back to duck into the crawlspace. She had her dignity if nothing else.

She lay her head down in the cramped space.

"Oh my god!"

The teenager cracked an eye open as the harsh rays of sunshine assaulted her.

She froze at the familiar face hanging above hers, the look on the man's face aghast with mute horror.

"You slept _here _for all places?"

_This seems a bit like the movies, _she thought sarcastically. The girl didn't even bother clarifying that she wasn't homeless, but it wasn't as if she was thinking it through when she had bolted out the door.

"Yes, I slept here " she said venomously, the lack of sleep combined with the events of last night made her a nasty mess to behold. "I'm sorry I couldn't afford better sleeping conditions."

She felt bad right after saying it at Fei Wong's grim twist of the mouth and the way his eyebrows furrowed. What was wrong with her? He had bought her shoes for absolutely no reason and all she was responding with was sass!

Her worries were confirmed when he got up and turned around.

"No! Wait don't go!" she sobbed and felt like kicking herself at the neediness in her tone. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to snap! Don't leave me. Please." There was so much desperation in her voice you could scrape it off with a knife.

To her immense surprise Fei Wong actually _blushed _of all the things he could have done.

"Oh no! That's not it! I thought . Would have wanted your space?" Fei Wong flinched as if words were so painfully awkward that they hurt to say them. "I'm not a stunning conversationalist, am I?"

She laughed through her tears involuntarily at that and wiped them away from existence. "Clearly not, no."

There was a pause where they said nothing, much like the one from yesterday, unbroken by her little sniffles and the contemplative look on his face.

"What would you say about a visit to the office?"

She threw all warnings of _'stranger danger_' out the window and took his offered hand.

When she stood up, the old man manning the dim sum cart smiled a wide, toothless grin in their direction.

"Come on."

"No." she huffed, glaring at the door like it was the most offensive thing in the world.

"_Please_." Fei Wong plead, his whole face pinched and anxious. "I promise it won't bite you."

Her glare only intensified at that.

He sighed. At times it really did feel like she was his daughter.

Except not.

Her expression softened when she saw the look on his face. One more nail in the coffin to go.

"My dad's going to be there," he tried to say nonchalantly, but couldn't suppress the nervous energy that bled through.

The girl took the black garment bag without another word and slammed the hotel bathroom closed.

He inwardly congratulated himself.

It had been two months since she came into his life and he hoped after tonight it would be permanent.

She didn't have a name when he asked her, or maybe it was a matter of trust but all the same there was no reason for them not to trust each other. They lived together, she cooked for him when she could, not yet used to the luxuries. She went out a lot without telling him, told him that she didn't like staying in one place too long and it was nothing personal. It felt almost normal in fact.

Except it wasn't.

She had murmured she was sixteen when he asked, but he knew it was a lie as soon as the words left her mouth. And if he believed her it would have made his dilemma easier.

She had too many secrets, and usually that wouldn't be too much of a problem, but it really was and he hoped to god he was misreading the signs.

Fei Wong was a decent man, or at least that's what his father told him. He hadn't touched whiskey or cigarettes until he was allowed in the eyes of the law despite having open access to it. He had never touched a woman without consent, and at 37 he was well into the Forty-year-old virgin category but he wouldn't change himself just to appear better to people he never met.

The problem, is that they were on the cusp of _something_.

He was more than half her age, and he was astounded with how much he didn't care that he loved the little smiles he pulled from her, loved her horrible cooking, loved the fresh face, her bright eyes, and it was _everything_.

She had taken to walking around the hotel room showing more skin than he felt he deserved to see. She must have grown close enough that their bond was paternal, and maybe it was until recently.

He thought it had been an accident, when she had just come out of the bathroom for a late night shower wearing nothing but a towel and still dripping wet. He had been turned over to face the wall on his half-asleep mind, and his eyes were open just enough to see but closed enough he must have still looked like he was asleep.

There was no way to mistake the way her eyes bore into him as she dropped the towel, baring all.

He made no move to show he was awake.

Her skin was usually so pale and was flushed from the shower and was turned a healthy pink. Her skin shone with droplets of water that clung to her body like diamonds. He was entranced by a drop that trailed down her breasts and traced her curves and finally the fragile drop destroyed itself as it fell out of sight into the peek between her legs.

He made sure she didn't hear the way his breath had hitched and the stiffening of his shoulders, and later, the thing in between his legs that he had rarely acknowledged.

She had waited a few minutes and just when he thought she would leave, she leaned over his body, her warmth and scent heady and sweet, made him tingly and warm in the head at their closeness.

He almost thought she knew he was awake as she scrutinized his face before turning around and spreading her legs and bending down to reach for the towel.

His heart thundered in his chest and he sprung to full hardness when he saw it.

He thought he had seen everything but now he really had seen at all, and it didn't compared to every blurry image on the Internet claiming it was high definition and was it possible he was having a heart attack?

She dressed and went to bed as if she hadn't just bared her naked body to him not moments ago.

He screwed his eyes shut and willed his hands not to drift between his legs that night.

And then the next day he had come home to her wearing nothing but a pair of white cotton panties.

"OH MY GOD!" he covered his eyes and screamed and turned around.

"Put some clothes on!"

He heard a snort and that was the end of it.

Fei Wong idly wondered if she knew what she did to him.

He felt horribly guilty after, and poured himself into his work. But couldn't handle that either when they were eating dinner one night at the lounge.

"Was it something I did?"

His mind wasn't catching up with his mouth.

"What?" he inquired pathetically.

He stopped dead cold and let the noodles slip from his open mouth.

"What?" he inquired pathetically.

She frowned, her lip caught between her teeth. It looked strangely alluring, and he almost kicked himself for considering the thought.

"I did it again, didn't I?" she was breathing heavy, her arms coming around her. "I creeped you out."

_Yes, yes you did._ He bit his tongue from saying out loud, not liking her bright eyes one bit.

"NO! No you-" he cleared his throat, cheeks coloring. "It makes me uncomfortable...yes. I don't want you to think I'm a predator. It's the last thi-" when he saw her expression bleed into guilt he stopped.

"It was a test?"

She swallowed a sob and combed her fingers through her curls to calm herself. "This isn't...orthodox. You and me. I needed to be sure." Her voice had started to quiver and he clenched his fists from trying not to hold her in his arms. They were in public and he saw the dirty look the waiter gave him when they came in.

It didn't make him ache less to touch her when she hunched into herself like she did when she was nervous and insecure, and certainly didn't go away when she looked up at him, tears shining in her violet eyes.

"I. I care about you. I thought it was obvious? I don't-how could you think so low of me?" he asked her desperately, searching her eyes. "I would never force you to do anything you didn't want to. I don't keep your company for that reason. I never will. And even if I was, you should leave."

"You wouldn't be forcing me." She told him, her beautiful gem like eyes wet and sincere, her voice thick with emotion.

Their eyes had locked over the table, momentarily forgetting where they were.

_I love you,_ he thought shockingly. _I love you so,so much._

He dared not say it out loud and let his eyes fall back onto his plate. They resumed their dinner in silence.

They said nothing when she crawled into his bed, fully clothed and fell asleep against his back.

This had not been what he had been expecting when he came to China.

The two month close to the string of meetings he was supposed to be attending were going to end with a dinner party tonight. Clow Reed would be present, as well as foreign investors and their wives, and their friends, and their friends, and so on. After that, he was leaving China and heading back to New York. If after tonight things went well, they could go back together.

He had bought her a dress for the occasion and the blank face she gave him told him enough.

He was in the middle of straightening his tie in the mirror when the bathroom door creaked open.

His breath caught at the hesitant body poking out of the door.

She wore light makeup (where dis she even get it?) and had her curled hair unstyled and perfect. She wore a string of pearls around her slim neck and wore the black dress he had bought her. Her eyes had nervously fell to her feet.

"Honey," he couldn't keep the amazement out of his voice. "You look beautiful."

Her sunny little grin was worth every dollar he spent on that dress.

"Where did you get her off of, the street?"

His cousin draped an arm around him and he stiffened in response.

"Shut up," he muttered under his breath and the arm tightened around him.

"She is very pretty though, but must have cost less because of her age,hm?"

"I said, shut up!"

"What? So she isn't an escort?"

The blue eyes of Eli Reed, distant cousin narrowed behind his spectacles. "Because if she isn't I'm very sure you can be classified as an offender."

"No," he said weakly, already knowing it was true.

They had said nothing about the dinner for weeks, and 'I wouldn't mind sleeping with you' wasn't the same as wanting to stay together.

How could he have been so stupid?

He let it sit like a weight in his stomach as he watched the girl try not to laugh at a pudgy couple attempting to quick step.

"Fei Wong."

Father had pulled him into the back of the kitchens. It had been an open buffet and the service had closed an hour ago but all Fei Wong could think about was where was she? And what his father was going to say.

"It's not right. You know that. I can allow a lot of things, but I can't allow this."

The words may as well been weapons at the way they pierced his heart.

He knew. He knew all along that it wasn't possible for such a thing to even be, but the fact that it was meant it wasn't all in his head.

She loved him.

But he couldn't destroy the niggling doubts.

"If you walk away right now, I can't give you anything. Your credit cards, bank accounts, they'll be taken away. You can't represent the company and I can't call you my son."

Hurt.

He remembered the way she had sobbed for him under the cart and made up his mind.

"FEI WONG!"

He wasn't going to leave leave her.

Her arm was being taken by a man with chestnut hair and thick glasses. He had a kind face and had he been anybody else, he would have thought they were having a regular conversation.

Except he knew that her eyes analytically darted around her when she was uncomfortable and she was trying to take her hand back.

He recognized the man instantly.

Fujitaka Kinomoto, drug lord.

He strode towards them in what he hoped was a conspicuous fashion and flashed a grin and took her hand in his own, tried not to be proud how she melted in relief as their skin touched.

"What's going on here?" his smile was wide and forced, and he locked eyes with the brunette, who still looked kind, even with his eyes cold and tight.

"Talking to my daughter, actually."

The words were like a bucket of ice being poured down his back.

He didn't believe them until he saw her expression.

"Oh really? Then what's her name?" he sneered, congratulating himself on the impassive expression that flickered into malice.

She stiffened by his side, and I knew I struck a chord.

It made no sense-why had notorious drug lord Fujikata Kinomoto appear out of the blue for his daughter? If that was what she really was?

He silenced his thoughts, almost absent of the words passing through his lips against his volition. "You have three minutes before I notify every federal organization in the country where you are."

Fujikata's smile froze and he watched them carefully for a moment before slinking away into the crowd.

His relief only lasted a minute before panic sunk in.

"We need to go," his eyes widened and he took her arm, frantically pulling her to the elevators. "Before father cancels the cards and Fujikata knows where we are."

'Wait, what?" she stared as if seeing him for the first time in mortification.

"I'll explain later!" he growled, yanking on her arm once more as the lift opened.

The wait for the elevator doors to open was drawn out and full of agony. She had taken to biting down on her blunt nails and he had paced as the numbers lit up with each floor passing by them.

"What's your name?"

"Huh?"

"What's your name?"

He couldn't believe it had taken him two months to finally get it.

"I don't have time for this," he said tightly. "What's your name?"

She looked stricken.

"Should I assume your surname is Kinomoto, then?" he said coldly, feeling his self-control slip away.

She turned to glare at him, her violet eyes acidic. "Huo."

"Excuse me?"

"...my mother's name was Huo. Xing Huo."

"And...?"

"I don't have a name.'

"How can you not have a na-"

"Because I was Xing Huo and Fujikata Kinomoto's accident child, and I lived in a closet for twelve years. Do you think I had time for a name? I didn't even know what a name was until I turned eight. My mother didn't live long enough to give me one, and today was the first of many times I met my father, and he thought I was my mother."

Fei Wong was stunned into silence and could only stare at her in wonder, at the way she had grown red and breathless at the tirade.

It was horrible timing, but he took the time to admire her flushed skin, her askew curls, and her fierce violet eyes and the tight white line of her mouth, she looked every bit of the woman he had denied she was.

"Do you love me?"

All the fight went out of her, her mouth falling open in shock. "What?"

"Do you love me?"

He couldn't have mistaken the lingering looks, the stripping, the sincerity in her eyes at the dinner table weeks ago. There was just no way that he was the only one.

When she met his eyes, they were just as soft and wet as they were the first time he had seen them. She said nothing, her fists trembling at her sides, her teeth chattering as if she was cold.

She gnawed on her lip and appraised him, really looking at him and jumped into his arms. "Yes, yes I do."

He swallowed around the lump in his throat, tears gathering in his own eyes as he squeezed her and held on for dear life. "Then that's all that matters."

A/N: You think you're confused now? Don't worry, it all ties together ;)

Many of you will either stop reading at this point and think I must be making up twist after twist just to keep you guys hanging, which, sure it's ideal but I think some notes are in order for some clarification:

Fei Wong _does _become everybody's favorite villain, and I'm including every body's back story to show that while good and evil seem like very black and white terms, not everyone in this story can fit into these neat categories. People who commit crimes do not simply do it with ill intentions, people cannot control who they love, and some people see life in a different way and deal with the cards they are dealt. It may not mean they become upstanding citizens, Kyle wasn't essentially a stable kid to begin with, and he most definitely wasn't raised to be one. I don't want to give too much away, but know that a lot of controversial perversity's will be addressed, and here is what I can hint to you without giving much away,

Nadeshiko (Sakura's mother) has the maiden name of Amamiya

Syaoran was apart of the transfer program and originally was born in Hong Kong

I can't answer whether Fujitaka is the father of Sakura or Syaoran, (to be clear, no incestuous relationships between the two of them)

I hope whatever readers I had before will stick with me for the rest, I'm guessing there will be three parts left?

Some people may not like that this story was posted in the XXXHoLiC archive since it tends to revolve more around the Tsubasa universe, but rest assured Watanuki is the hero we are all rooting for. I intended this as a love story but now it's grown to a monster that I love and can't contain. Who's to say it will have a happy ending? You'll have to stick around to find out :)


	7. Chapter 7

Part Seven

He doesn't know it starts, not really. He knows at first that there is a burning thirst that overtakes all his other senses, gives him the strength to drag his malnourished body under the rusty gates dragging trails of blood down his back, and how in his state of adrenaline he mistakes it for the rain pouring in abundance around him. He doesn't think about contracting Tetanus, or whether he's intruding, or if the owners will call the cops, but he's thirsty and rainwater isn't enough and he's just so _hungry_.

He passes out, but not without feeling the sharp, burgundy eyes and the long spindly arms wrap around him.

If he knew then what he knew now, so much would have played out differently.

"This is it, kid. I have to let you go."

He isn't more than eleven, and he looks up, horror too present in blue eyes, still bright with hope.

"What? What do you mean?" His tone is pleading, but begging never works.

The street vendor clamps a heavy arm on his shoulder, expression bleeding so much false sympathy he was surprised it didn't drip from his face like oil. "It means that this business is cut and you need a future. You can't pay for college with dinner rolls."

"Please-" he is so close to tears he doesn't know why he bothers trying to hide it. "I don't care about the money! I'll do anything. /Anything./"

He sees it. Its fleeting and gone before he can pin point the source, but he sees it plain as day.

Hunger.

Much too young to fathom the kind of hunger, and much too lucky that day. The man stops short, caught off guard by the strength of his own emotions. "No. Nothing you say is going to change my mind."

He doesn't do the rational thing, at least ask where the nearest shelter is, just storms off in tears, disappearing into the heart of New York City.

The streets are always swarming with people, each involved in their own personal bubbles. Very rarely does a person stop you on the street and ask how you're doing, why you're crying. He remembers wishing someone saw, even making angry scars into his arm to keep the waterworks coming unless someone saw. Which was very conflicting, keeping his goal in mind.

There was a time before Yuuko, before Foster Care, that he thought he could care for himself. It was only two years, but they were the two years that everything changed. It was a week after his parents died (shoot out on the Subway, nothing special) he heard an officer murmur as he finished delivering the news to him, after promptly turning his heel and closed the door in his face. He stood stock still, but not for the reasons that made sense.

The way the officer spoke, as if they were just a number, hit him like a brick wall.

He was just a number too.

In two days, they would send him to the orphanage and prepare him like cattle for slaughter, but it was worse, because it was impending. Or it would never come. He heard horror stories of abuse and horrible living conditions. He would just become one of those numbers, another product for stories of what goes bump in the night. Only made more terrifying by the revelation that the true monsters aren't under their beds, but in their hearts.

He had too two choices, to stay or to leave.

It should be obvious what option he chose.

"What's your name?"

The voice pervades the faint buzz of euphoria that greets him in waking. He feels like the sun is resting gentle rays on his skin, he wants to cry because it feels like all he's ever wanted has been served to him on a silver platter. He weeps because its too good to be true.

Her words are a sharp, sting in the warm, glowing room. It feels balming at the same time, like mint.

His eyes are crusted over and he finds it harder to force his heavy eyes open with the comfort of the bed, a balm to a back that had slept on hard surfaces for six months.

"You can go back to sleep," the sleek voice tides over him, the scents of cherry tobacco and mint and ethanol mingling around him like living things.

He didn't have a problem with listening to orders, but he suddenly fought the urge to confine himself to slumber, blinking the sand from his eyes rapidly.

She wore such little clothing he went beet red and snapped his eyes shut.

After a moment he cracked an eye open, only to shut it again eyes lingered at a certain area too long.

"Don't be shy, if I wasn't proud of it I wouldn't be showing it off."

Um.

He slowly peeled his eyes open, taking great pains not to focus on the miles of pale skin, bare as far as he could see, and locked his gaze onto her face.

She was stunningly beautiful.

Her long black hair draped past her waist, straight and generic, but-

She wore a sharp jaw on an angular face, painted with cat like eyes that were almost claret in the bright room and had thin ruby lips that wrapped around the neck of a bottle of vodka. She arched a single brow at him. "What are you looking at?"

She was draped only in a thin shawl that did nothing to cover the blatant nudity burning into his retinas.

In short, she was mint personified, if that made any sense.

"Watanuki."

"Hm?"

The boy seemed as shocked at the sound of his own voice, hoarse with dehydration that he didn't bother raising his voice above a whisper. "My name."

"You'll take this room, here."

He wanted to ask why two clearly feminine beds (decked in all their pale Victorian splendor) was meant for him.

"Twins," she buried herself in a toy chest to extract a duvet by way of explanation and barely bat an eyelash as she delivered the rest. "Still borns."

If she shows any remorse or weakness, she is gone before he sees it.

It's purely accidental, when he discovers the scope of Human hunger.

"I want you to wait _right here_. Don't you dare move a muscle."

She has 'negotiations' she attends to three times a week, donning a smart pantsuit, so unlike the negligee she seems so fond of, wears oval framed glasses and pins her hair into a bun. He assumed it would have been a cubicle job if not for the baseball bat and bag that carries God-knows-what and never wants to find out.

He's waiting on the street, just like she instructed, but he's not eleven anymore. He knows he can wander for ten, maybe fifteen minutes, and come back as if he never left the spot. He hasn't tested his boundaries, because as helpful as she is, he knows that the arrangement is temporary at best, and he would rather stay on his savior's goodside. It's rather sad, that while he sure isn't eleven anymore, he sure as hell is still just as naive as the day he left.

"Hey,"

Really, the tall blond man grinning at him should have been the first red flag.

"I'm new to the city-can you lead me to the nearest corner store?"

He doesn't seem to have much muscle on him, highlighted by the slim grey tailored suit he wore. The media likes to enforce these stereotypes, what to look for, likes to demonize these people, but they don't realize what's truly terrifying is that these people don't appear any different than anyone else.

The youth pushes off the wall, the summer heat starting to get to him. "Sure."

The blond isn't much taller, but he's got homey eyes and straight teeth, most definitely attractive. His hair is a bit long in the back, but it's slick and shiny. Maybe another warning sign is that he resembled the American Psycho better than Christian Bale did.

Despite baring the name of the city that never sleeps-it was a feat in itself that Yuuko chose to lord over the quietest part of New York City. Only small businesses such as a pastel pink bakery that looked clearly out of business (_pastel_, really?) a concert hall that looked way too small for an orchestra, and a collection of apartment complexes in construction.

"So if you keep walking down this road until you see the stone statue and make a right-"

He was jerked in the direction of the pastel bakery, which Watanuki will not neglect to tell you that in the eight years since, the alley behind _Sugar,Spice,and Anything Nice _is still as dirty and disgusting as alleyways go.

"What are you-" the blond's faintly clammy hand went over his mouth, the vice grip on his wris transferred to around his waist. The suit clad men pulled Watanuki against like me weighed nothing in broad daylight. Watanuki bit the palm but still the blond made no sound, didn't even pull away. Panic seized his body and he struggled frantically against his captor, lactic acid burning in his muscles as he kicked and punched and screamed and bit at the blond. Frightened tears mixed in with the rivulets of blood dripping from the blond's grip on his mouth. All throughout his endeavors of escape, the blond had spoke once, and it was only to murmur, cold and devoid of any emotion, "Move anymore and I will fucking kill you."

At those words, he went boneless, paralyzed with fear. In that moment that the blond had let go, it did not occur to Watanuki to scream for help, or to run, or to fight. It wasn't as simple as fighting back, because the fear was so deep in his bones that even if he could move, it would only be to turn away from the indifference burning in his captor's orbs. He continued to speak, his face still a mask of indifference. "I could do it right here, and nobody would notice. I could do this-"

White noise filtered through his mind, this was the part in his memory his brain always tried to repress.

The blond gripped him between the legs, rolling his clothes testicles roughly. "and nobody would help you. What were you thinking? _You did this to yourself."_

Although his memory was selective at best, it chose to ingrain those words into his brain. If you asked Watanuki to describe what happened next, the white noise would die down, and give into startling clarity.

The hue of his deep brown eyes as they bore into him, the imprints of the stranger's fingers as they burrowed into his bare hips, and the degrading spit on the palm and the whispered insults, exhaled hot and heavy on the shell of his ear. The pain searing up his spine, the nails raked down his back, the rank stench of the dumpster he was pushed up against, the greasy feel of sweat and body fluids smeared over him.

"_You did this to yourself." _

It was said like a mantra, a testament to truth. What almost hurt worse, was that he couldn't even deny it.

His body gave into the comforting phase of detachment. The hypersensitive pants and groans, the stench of sweat and garbage dulled, retreating to the haven of his mind.

"_Kimihiro."_

"_Yes, grandma?"_

_The matronly woman tipped her sunhat in front of her eyes and smiled fondly, her jade eyes adoring. "Do you want to hear a story?"_

"Ah, shit you're so tight-"

_The woman in the yellow dress pulled the young boy into her lap and nuzzled his neck affectionately. "__Bamboo leaves are rustling, rustling,Swaying close to the roof's edge,Oh, how the stars are twinkling, twinkling-"_

The memories skip like a scratched record, stuttering between the feeling of the burning imprints on his hips and his grandmother's soft hands running through his hair.

"_Are you hogging my son?" an amused chuckle sounded from behind her. Watanuki climbed over his grandmother's shoulders and squawked at the shaggy haired brunette, face trained into a concentrated pout that threatened to break out into laughter._

"_DADDY!"_

"What the FU-"

The hot spray of blood painted the dumpster. Watanuki blinked hollowly at it and turned around.

The blond clutched at his shoulder, trying to staunch the flow of crimson with his free hand. "YOU BITCH!"

The silhouette remained in silence, instead choosing to match the sorry state of his arm to the rest of his body. After a blow to the head, the blond fell like a sack of potatoes.

Watanuki blinked once more, his brain still not transferring frequencies, the buzzing in his ears not dissipating an iota.

Yuuko was dotted in the blond's blood and smeared the red across her forehead nonchalantly and capped a smoke. After she had indulged in a heavy cigar and blew rings around him, only then did she pay him any mind. "I told you to stay where you were."

He nodded weakly, making no move to leave his position.

She focused on him with watchful eyes, and handed him his shorts without breaking eye contact.

He tugged them on and followed after her.

"God DAMNITT!" The ATM rattled with the force of Fei Wong's kick.

Xing Huo visibly startled and jumped away as the hunk of machinery tipped over and hurtled to the ground with a heavy crunch.

She brought a lip between her teeth, worried violet eyes hesitant as they took in the sight of the fugitive clutching his head, sinking to his knees.

It was nearing three in the morning, but there were few people milling around, with the exception of the lone old man dozing at the departed section. She chased hints of her sour breath with the bottled water and spat in the water fountain. There suitcase had been circling the baggage claim close to twenty minutes now. Xing watched it like a hawk, so it wasn't in any danger of being stolen, but she found her worries eyes come back to Fei Wong everytime.

If she was being honest, this was one of the single dumbest things she's ever done, seconded to the towel stunt she pulled back at the hotel.

It's not that she was lying when she said she loved Fei Wong, because she did, but a guiltless part of her found no fault in wanting to take advantage of his wealth. She was uncomfortable with these luxuries, and the billionaire seemed to paying the price now, going from riches to rags right before her eyes.

There was a crick in her ankles that won't cease, but going barefoot in an airport wasn't really an option, and she didn't have any other comfortable shoes. Xing straightened, Fei Wong looming forward in the corner of her eye.

"Any luck?"

He removed his spectacles, rubbing at his temples, but she swore she saw a few stress induced tears leak from his eyes. "Credit cards were rejected. I thought it would take the bank a few days to process it-but the rich seem to get a backdoor." he muttered bitterly, blinking his eyes hard.

Xing Huo lost the slightest bit of respect for him, the lack of a back up plan was clearly evident in Fei Wong's grim tone.

"So what do we do now?"

"I can call in some connections in the morning-well, in a couple hours. We can get some rest and maybe something to eat?"

Fei Wong's discomforted tone must have been at the thought of dozing off in the plastic chairs, but the lone old man seemed to be doing just fine. With Fei Wong's luck, he must have never had to have done a hard day's work at any point in his life. Somewhere in the back of the teenager's mind, an idea was brewing.

"Alright, I'll just be off to the restroom then."

Fei Wong squeezed her around the shoulders, but she could tell by his eyes that he wanted a kiss, behind all the guilt and self-loathing perhaps.

She dropped her voice an octave and whispered in his ear. "Maybe you can join me later?"

He predictably choked and flushed a deep red and watched her another look full of want, guilt, and more self-loathing.

She pulled away with a wink, swaying her hips in what she hoped was a seductive kind of swagger.

The look dropped of her face as soon as her back was turned, as memories of her uncle's hands on her body resurfaced. Men were pigs, but it was a truth often forgotten whenever the billionaire blushed.

She contemplated how long it would take Fei Wong to follow her and waited ten minutes, peeking out to see that the man was slightly dozing. At least the man had some kind of sensibility, because as tempting as an offer of sex was, the facade was ruined by security cameras, child protection laws, and their own lack of contraception. Oh well, there would always be other times.

She slipped off the high heels and tried not to cringe around the thought of walking on public washroom tiles with just her bare feet and looked both ways cautiously. She sprinted, light on her feet, to the Swarovski dealer, sharpening a hair pin against the door's edge, and peered into the shop.

A brunette with square framed glasses wore a pressed suit, and didn't look the slightest bit peeved at the time in the morning. Americans.

She coughed to signal his attention and went warm. Xing Huo should admit now, this plan wasn't exactly something she thought through.

He glanced at her passively and unfocused, coming to clarity in modes. Turns out he was just as tired as she thought.

His eyes widened in realization as he took in her dress, blue eyes widening to saucers. "Is-is that-"

She didn't know what he was going to say, but she cut him off anyways. "Yes."

"_Debbie Wingham's Black Diamond Frock?" _ the Swarovski sales associate whispered in disbelief, circling and inspecting her like a vulture. She almost felt inclined to cover her chest, but he looked to be more invested in inspecting the jewels rather than _the family jewels. _He lifted up a flap of the dress, not an easy feet as the fabric was twenty nine pounds alone.

"Where did you-this goes for five point six million!"

The Swarovski clerk continued to take in her gown enviously, rubbing the fabric between his fingers back and forth to test its solidity.

"For the right price, it could be yours."

The brunette gawked and dropped the material as if burned.

"If this is some kind of joke-"

She deadpanned and feigned annoyance, but her heart was beating like a jackhammer against her ribcage. "I was interested in offering you some business, but I can obviously see I'm being taken for a fool."

She turned on her heel and made a big show of leaving and panicked, because he wasn't running after her and _this wasn't going according to plan. _

Well of course it wasn't, her mind supplied sarcastically. This isn't Pretty Woman, people don't barter with clothes for a place to live in the first world.

Xing considered dropping the act and just getting down on her knees and begging, was even prepared to do it but the Swarovski dealer beat her to it.

"Wait!"

She lit up on the inside but kept the deadpan expression on her face, inwardly congratulated herself on the stellar acting.

"Yes?"

He looked about ready to blow, but the greed in his gaze was resolute.

"I, I've got a guy that can inspect it and the police on speed dial, so if this is a hoax, you should save yourself the trouble and leave now."

Xing made no move to leave, after all just because she came from China meant it wasn't genuine. He wasn't saying no.

He sighed in relief, she mentally called his bluff. "I can't pay the full amount now-"

"Then don't waste my time!" she snapped, "I'm not in the business of dealing with Charlatans." Charlatans? Whatever, it felt right. It seemed to fit in this context.

The Swarovski clerk looked like he didn't know how he felt about the title, and there was almost a poetic justice in how accurate she was describing this whole business transaction on her part.

"On a few conditions," she sighed, as if she was just a wealthy heir's daughter and was sparing her first client and being generous with her offer. It wasn't too far from the truth. "My husband and I are going to stay over so you don't get any pre concieved notions of 'calling the cops,' are we clear?" She finished off with a smile that was more teeth and less honest around the eyes. Xing could have looked murderous for all she knew.

The brunette must have been stupider than she thought, because he nodded eagerly in agreement.

"Alright," she drawled and turned her back, smiling giddily when she knew he wouldn't see. "We will be back in exactly ten minutes. You will close this shop immediately. You will not contact your manager, not contact NSA, and you will most definitely not leave the premises in the next ten minutes. And to seal the deal-"

She ignored his startled gasp and squack of protest and snatched his cellphone. She pried open the side with the hairpin and scratched at the SIM card. He lunged after her and she moved away in time and tossed the fingernail sized card above her shoulder.

"What are you doing?"

She turned on her heel and pushed the sharpened hair pin to his throat and focused her most cold, detached look. "We have a deal." she pressed until the vessels under his skin started to break. "Is that understood?"

If she let go now, he was going to take off running, landing them in even more hot water. She cursed herself in the moment of madness she just partook in and pushed him against a glass display case. It rattled under their combined weight.

"I do not like being swindled-" she glanced at his nametag. " You _will _abide by my rules or I can play the same game you're playing and the call the cops as well. Who do you think they'll believe? Hm?" She drew the hair pin to her own neck, small beads of blood forming with a sharp sting. Xing grit her teeth and smiled. "A middle aged nobody, or the young girl in the pricey dress."

"You're a monster." Tobias stared in horror at the growing blood.

She tried to not startle too much at the name. It was all just an act anyways. "I need to have your word, Tobias."

Tobias's breath hitched, shoulders starting to tremble. "And-And if I play along," he wiped the sweat off his own forehead. "All five point six million dollars will be mine?"

He really was stupid. Xing smiled as genuinely as she could pull off. "I promise."


End file.
